Rescue Me
by Winfan2
Summary: Dr. Max Goodwin does battle with bureaucracy on a daily basis but besides being a doctor and the director of the country's oldest and one of its largest hospitals he is also already a father of a young son. J.C. Goodwin is as altruistic as his father but is also fighting his own battle, one that he may very well need to be rescued from.
1. Chapter 1

Out beyond ideas

of wrongdoing and rightdoing,

there is a field.

I'll meet you there.

Jelaluddin Rumi, 13th century

 **Rescue Me**

The wheels on the gurney were spinning around in an erratic fashion that had caught eleven year old J.C.'s attention. He wasn't sure why they had him so fascinated, but he imagined it had something to with the fact that he wished what was happening, wasn't happening and they were simply a distraction allowing his mind to focus elsewhere. But this was real and there was no getting around it. They had reached their destination and Georgia was being lifted from the wheeled gurney to another bed, and for the first time his father made eye contact with him. All J.C. knew was something about bleeding that wasn't supposed to be happening but apparently was even though he hadn't seen any blood. It was obvious to him that she was still pregnant so he didn't get why everyone was so scared.

"Hey buddy, why don't you come around to my side, come sit with me," Dr. Max Goodwin said, holding his arm out to receive his son.

"He was a great help Max." Georgia said in the midst of her panicked state. "He held my hand and only left to direct the paramedics to where I was waiting."

"Great job kiddo," Max proclaimed showing a smile that revealed effort, but little else.

J.C. stayed silent as the doctor went to work and after a brief roller coaster ride of emotions he wasn't even sure he understood, but apparently ended on a high, he trailed his family to the room where Georgia was settled. After Max made his promises to come back and check on them both he departed only to hear small footsteps fall in line behind him. He looked back and glanced down to see the blue Nike's that they had spent an entire day looking for. Max flashed a quick smile as he recalled the long day going from store to store. He knew it was much more about spending time together as opposed to finding just the right sneaker. He felt honored that his son still thought enough of him to keep him captive while in pursuit of the perfect footwear. Before he knew it those same feet would march away from him, finding time with friends and other activities much more important than making an effort with his family.

"You need to stay with Georgia." He said after he turned around and faced his son, who, to anyone that knew them, was clearly a smaller version of himself in both looks and personality.

"I want to stay with you. I want to live with you," J.C. said. "You don't even miss me at all do you?" He accused.

Max softened his face as he gazed downwards. "Of course I miss you. I miss you every day and every night."

"Then why can't I live with you. I mean, Georgia isn't even my real mother."

"Maybe not, but she loves you very much and needs your help. Today was very scary and she's going to need someone to be with her. To help out."

" Yeah because you're not there. But then you're never there. Is that why you had to move out, because you work too much?"

Max sighed. "Things got complicated son. You got back from visiting your mom earlier than I expected. I thought I had time to get a schedule and a plan in place with this job before you returned. Then Georgia and I had some problems. Now, the baby—I'm sorry if you're getting lost in the shuffle, but please understand, please know that without a doubt that I love you very much and am not pushing you away."

"Sure feels like it," the boy said as his fingers found their way upwards as he absentmindedly touched the raised two inch scar on his neck. Most of the time he didn't even realize he was doing it. He wished he could stop. He had matching ones on his arms as well, but somehow they seemed more like a badge of honor. He dropped his hand as Max's face took on the sympathetic look that J.C. hated. He hated the scars, he hated how he got them and sometimes he just hated the world and everything about it.

"Just let me get adjusted here and then we can look into some kind of schedule."

"We really need a schedule to see each other," J.C. said shaking his head. "Maybe I should just go back and be with my mom."

Max gently shook his head and then looked his son in the eyes. "You know that can't happen." He said as his eyes flickered upwards towards the scar.

"Well that's what I want," the boy said crossing his arms trying to put on a show of defiance.

"How about this then," Max began, "on days you see Dr. Mayfield, Tuesday's and Thursday's?"

"Monday's and Thursday's," J.C. corrected.

"Okay then, Monday's and Thursday's after your session you come here. His office isn't that far. I can find someone to walk you down. I can't promise you much time, but just knowing you're around will be nice and when I have a few minutes we can spend them together."

J.C. smiled. "That sounds great."

"But you will have to follow the rules. I can't have you roaming everywhere and causing problems."

"I'll be good, I swear. When can I come to your new apartment?"

"Maybe this weekend. But I warn you it's not much to brag about."

"That's okay, I'm used to utilitarian."

"Oh are you now?" Max laughed.

"I am, that's what Mom calls the places we stay. So Thursday I can come here?"

"Yes, Thursday, you can come here. But now you have to help me out by staying with Georgia. She needs you, and I need you to be with her. Can you do that for me?"

J.C. took a deep breath and toed the floor with his new sneaker. "Yes. I can do that."

Max smiled at his departing son and felt conflicted. He loved his son so much, and loved spending time with him, but he felt a larger responsibility on his shoulders, one that often left those he loved the most needing him the most. He wondered if having J.C. come to the hospital was the right move or not. Sure he had often hung out at the China Town clinic and was remarkably adept at understanding when to help and when to fade into the background. But this was different, this was a major hospital, with its winding corridors, elevators, jail cells and massive square footage. And there was J.C.'s mental health to consider as well. He wasn't the same boy he had been the last time Max had said goodbye to as he handed him off to his ex. Things had happened, absolutely awful things. Things so horrific that despite the fact that J.C. had been in the middle of them, he had very little recollection of any of it.

Max watched his son retreat back into his wife's room. He knew that Georgia would have to stay in the hospital for a certain amount of time and that J.C. would already get exactly what he had wanted without even having to ask, simply due to circumstances, but he wanted to hear the boy accept the responsibility of helping out. Having J.C. around would make Georgia happier and Max much more content as he would have an extra pair of eyes on the scene.

Several hours later, having bid Georgia goodnight at the hospital, J.C. stood in the doorway of Max's studio apartment and looked back up at his father. "You weren't kidding, there's absolutely nothing to brag about in here."

"I warned you. I'll have to get you a bed and maybe a dresser or something."

"How long are you going to be here?" J.C. asked as he set down his backpack.

Max mashed his lips together. "Not sure yet. We'll just have to wait and see."

"How come you aren't living in our apartment?"

"I will again soon," Max assured, despite the fact he had no idea how it was all going to work out. But he didn't want to heap anymore uncertainty on his son right now. He set the small suitcase down that they had hastily filled with J.C.'s clothes from the other apartment before coming to the small abode that Max had hoped would be quite temporary, but as each day passed he became more and more uncertain. He knew his hand had been heavy in the cause of the separation, but he wasn't sure he would change anything if he could go back and that fact bothered him more than anything.

"Take my bed," he said pointing to the mattress.

"Where will you sleep?" The boy asked.

"On some blankets over there," Max pointed towards a mound of blankets.

"I'll sleep on the blankets. I've done it before."

"Oh you have?"

"Sure. I've slept in a few huts in my time with even less than blankets to lay on. I've got this." He boasted.

"When have you slept in a hut?"

"Egypt."

"When were you in Egypt?" Max asked, his voice tightening up. J.C. realized his error as soon as it slipped from his lips. He bit his lower lip and stayed quiet. "Answer me." Max demanded.

"Last time. We stopped for just a couple of days. That was all, just like two or three days."

"Just two or three days huh? Egypt wasn't on any itinerary that I got. You aren't supposed to stray from what was agreed upon, and Egypt wasn't agreed upon."

"Well it is in Africa," J.C. tried, his face beginning to scrunch up. "Don't be mad at Mom. Don't tell her I told."

"Don't worry about anything tonight. We need to get some sleep now. But we will talk about this more later."

Max lay awake thinking about what his son had revealed a few hours before. If he had been uncertain about moving forward with his plan he had no such reservations now. Her failure to come back to the states after what happened to their son, her omission about their travels, it all spelled out that he had to take charge and do what was best for his son.

 _To be continued..._

 _Since this is a new story along with a brand new show, updates might be irregular. But please check back often as I continue to develop the story as we go along._


	2. Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Two days later Max was singing to his unborn daughter as J.C. looked on. "Did you sing to me before I was born?"

Max clamped his lips together as he inhaled and looked across the mound that held his daughter. "I wish I had, but no I didn't. I did talk to you though. You remembered my voice."

"I did?"

"You did. Not long after you born, I came in to see you and when I started talking you turned your head and looked right at me."

"Is that why you talk and sing to Luna?" J.C. asked as he stood up and turned, looking for his backpack.

"Yes it is. Now, I didn't sing to you then, but I could sing to you now." Max said as he stood up.

"No, that's okay. I have to go to school anyway," J.C. replied, though his voice and face were unable to match his words. It was clear that he hoped his father would reach out with some type of embarrassing sentiment. It was almost as if he needed it—the reassurance that he was worthy of the same efforts that his unborn sister had just received.

As his son turned and grabbed his backpack Max cleared his throat and began singing Ain't No Mountain High Enough, "Listen baby, ain't no mountain high ain't no valley low, ain't river wide enough baby." J.C. tried to make an ugly face but wasn't the least bit successful in trying to show his disgust as a smile that just couldn't be contained found its way to his lips.

"I have to go, Jeremy's here," J.C. said as he backed into the hallway and saw the college student who lived in their neighborhood and helped keep an eye on J.C. when needed. He had been pre-med before taking a year off, and Max's experience and knowledge had been invaluable for the twenty-two year old in his pursuit.

But Max wasn't going to let his son get off that easily and followed him out of the room and continued to sing out in the hallway. People glanced their way, but most kept moving quickly towards their destination, though a few smiled at the impromptu concert.

 _If you need me, call me  
No matter where you are  
No matter how far  
Just call my name  
I'll be there in a hurry  
_

 _Ain't no mountain high enough  
Ain't no valley low enough  
Ain't no river wild enough  
To keep me from you_

 _Ain't no mountain high enough  
Ain't no valley low enough  
(Say it again)  
Ain't no river wild enough  
To keep me from you_

 _Ain't no mountain high enough  
Nothing can keep me  
Keep me from you_

"That was touching." Jeremy said as waved at Max.

"If only he meant it," J.C. mumbled.

"Of course he meant it. You should sing some of it with him. You have a great voice."

"Whatever," J.C. sighed, but the smile returned to his lips before they made it to the elevator.

"He loved that," Georgia said as Max reentered the room. "I bet he tried to act cool, but couldn't quite pull it off."

Max smiled. "I think so. Before long he's going to leave me in the dust along with his old toys, cartoons, books and all things that are no longer cool. He'll have different dreams and desires. I don't have much more time with him and I'm spending it here working."

"Your dreams and desires matter too. J.C. and I just wish it was divided a little more evenly."

"You're right as usual. So how are you feeling?"

"Great. So great in fact that I'm getting discharged."

"Um, wow, so soon? I thought we had more time to figure out specifics." Max said.

"Specifics? Like what?"

"Like who can stay with you when J.C. is at school and at the hospital with me. I can't go back on my promise to him. He really likes coming here a couple evenings a week."

"Oh you don't have to tell me. He acts like it's a giant playground. I mean what kid besides yours gets excited about spending his evenings in a hospital. Besides, I have everything worked out. I don't need him to keep an eye on me and he is absolutely not coming to Connecticut."

"Who's going to Connecticut?" Max asked.

"I am. I'm going to stay with my parents. You and J.C. can come up on weekends and I'll have all the help I need."

"But I'll never see you. And I hate Connecticut."

"So does J.C.. Look, it's what needs to happen right now. J.C. will come here after school. It's what he wants to do anyway. His school is in the city, Dr. Mayfield and you."

"How vehement was he about not going to Connecticut?" Max asked as his eyes crinkled with concern.

"Let's just say he was firm, quite firm, about his decision. He was a tick away from a tantrum. But he has a lot of valid points. I couldn't argue with him."

"I need to think about this, there has to be another way," Max said. "I have to get to a staff meeting, but we'll figure this out. I promise."

Georgia watched him go as she whispered. "You always promise Max. You always promise."

Several days later J.C. peeked around the corner at the chaos and battle that was taking place before him. He wasn't allowed to be in the E.D. the initials for the Emergency Department. Max had made sure to remind him of that on a regular basis, but it was just something he couldn't resist. He had become a master at avoiding Dr. Bloom who he figured would rat him out, or maybe not, he wasn't sure yet, but he didn't want to take the chance. But it was this department where people who were broken could come in with actual hopes of being put back together. I mean where else could you see a screwdriver penetrating the palm of a hand, its plastic handle weighing it down while its flat head rose up like a beacon in the light. And that, ladies and gentlemen was quickly followed by a woman coming in with her pinky finger in a ziplock bag. You just couldn't make this stuff up. Nor the dude in the prison jumpsuit who was clutching his side in blood stained agony as he shuffled in his shackles surrounded by guards. Nope, reality was so much better than any fiction that could be produced, that, J.C. was certain of.

He was about to move on when she caught his eye. She looked tired, an exhaustion that he had seen before, an exhaustion he had experienced before. It was one that was so deep down in your bones that no amount of sleep could ever repair or replenish what had been lost. She looked down at her phone in disgust and then pulled her backpack towards her, unzipped it and tossed it inside. His stomach rumbled as he continued to watch her. He ignored its pleas, as his fingers traced the two inch scar on his neck. He had tried so hard to stop this repetitive action, but he never seemed to be aware that he was doing it until his fingers had found their mark. He dropped his hand and began to make his way in her direction.

"Come here often?" He asked as he sat down in the open seat next to her.

"J.C., what are you doing here?"

"It's my home away from home."

"Huh?"

"Are you sick?" He asked, ignoring her vague inquiry.

"No. Not me. It's my mom."

"What happened," J.C. asked gently.

"The doctors are trying to decided whether to admit her or not. Cancer. She's in and out of the hospital all of the time."

"Oh. I'm sorry. That totally sucks. Cancer is scary stuff."

"Yeah it does and yes it is. It's like the cancer is feeding on her and on our family. Chewing us up one cell at a time. And on days like these I get stuck out in the waiting room with a million other people carrying all kinds of germs and weapons," she said looking over at the guy with the screwdriver embedded in his hand.

"Doesn't it make you wonder what the hell went wrong?" J.C. chuckled.

"Yes it does," she giggled. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"I hadn't smiled since I got here."

"You're very welcome." He replied as he looked at Meredith, her fair complexion reflecting the fluorescent lighting. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled back into a pony tail and the freckles that dotted her face seemed intent on being seen. They were in sixth grade together and shared several classes. She was somewhat popular, much higher in the middle school chain of hierarchy than J.C. was. She often sat at the table with the other pretty girls who also wielded some kind of popularity power. A few minutes ago when he had decided to take a chance and sit down next to her, J.C. wasn't sure if she would even acknowledge him much less talk to him. This had been the longest they had ever spoken.

As they sat a disheveled man walked their way and made a worthy attempt at a smile, he failed miserably. "Hey honey. They're going to admit your mom until she feels a little better. They'll be moving her into a room soon."

"Okay. Can I stay with my friend?" She asked looking over at J.C.

"Hmm? Oh hi," he said thrusting his arm out at the boy. "Brian Dunn. What brings you here?"

"My dad's the director here. I come over sometimes after school so I can see him if he gets a break for dinner of just a few minutes of down time."

"The director huh? Is he a doctor?"

"Yes sir. I can take Meredith to his office where she can do her homework." J.C. offered, enjoying the possibility of being her chaperone for the evening.

"And maybe charge my phone because it's dead and I need the internet," Meredith chimed in.

"I don't know if I want you wandering around the hospital without any way to keep track of you." Brian Dunn said.

"You can go to any nurses station and have her or me paged. I know the hospital pretty well and can find out the room where they take your wife. Plus, we'll get her phone plugged in and within the hour she'll be back up and running."

"What's your name?"

"J.C. Goodwin. 

"And who's your father?"

"Dr. Max Goodwin."

"Please Daddy. I can't handle sitting around anymore." Meredith pleaded.

Just as Brian was mulling it over a security guard sauntered by and looked down at J.C. "You better be heading upstairs young man. You know your daddy don't want you down here."

"So he's a regular around here?" Brian asked looking up at the guard.

"J.C.? Sure, he visits with the patients, helps where he can and keeps Dr. Max somewhat centered. But, he also knows he's not supposed to be in the E.D." He said looking down at the boy.

"I'm going Zeke, I'm going. Have you seen my dad?" Zeke was approximately 6'5" tall and 350 pounds, 300 of it being muscle. His skin tone reminded J.C. of midnight in Uganda and his smile of the sun. His personality boomed out as much as his voice did. And the two adored each other.

"He was running around pointing at people to do something about fifteen minutes ago. Third floor I think. You know, the usual."

"Okay. Thanks." J.C. replied.

"Please Daddy?" Meredith repeated looking at her father.

"Fine. But charge your phone and if I text you had better respond."

"She'll be fine with J.C., he's a good boy," Zeke assured with a wink.

Brian nodded at the assurance, as he dry washed his exhausted face and put on a brave smile for his daughter. "Okay. But check in with me as soon as you can."

"Okay Daddy, thanks!"

"So what kind of cancer does your mom have?" J.C. asked as they stepped onto the elevator a minute later.

Meredith shrugged. "I don't know much. Cancer in her liver I think. They don't tell me much. It's like they think they're protecting me. But it's awful not knowing and I think it's the worst thing that they don't tell me the truth."

"Maybe the worst thing is knowing the truth, or maybe not," J.C. said touching the scar on his neck. He could tell she was dying to ask him about his wound, but courtesy seemed to keep her lips sealed.

They headed up to the third floor to find out that Max had headed over to building C so the two trekked that way and found him in the middle of a hallway on the fourth floor speaking with two other doctors.

J.C. stopped just off the side and several feet from the small gathering, remembering that he wasn't supposed to bother his father when he was speaking with other staff members. Meredith pulled up next to him and waited trying to figure out which one of the three men was Dr. Goodwin. She studied the trio, consisting of a balding man, with tufts of brown hair at the edges of his crown and a serious demeanor. The second gentleman was taller, with graying hair and looked like he had had an extremely long day and was ready to collapse at the first opportunity. The third man was younger, but she couldn't get a good look at him since his back was towards her. After waiting for another few minutes, she decided that J.C.'s father must be the tired looking man with the gray hair. He looked solemn and important. Or maybe it was the balding man, he looked important too. She figured the younger man must be asking for advice or ideas for whatever he was doing.

As the small meeting broke up, Max, having sensed his son's presence spun around and smiled at him. He appreciated his patience and understanding. He knew it had to be hard for the boy to act much more mature that his age would generally allow on such a regular basis. He learned when he was young that sometimes he would have to wait to get what he wanted, what he needed. It was the life of a child whose parents spent most of their waking hours working in the medical field with its constant demand and emergencies.

"Hey kiddo. Who's your friend?" He asked, a gentle smile rising from his lips.

"Meredith, I know her from school. Her mom is here, liver cancer I think. They just admitted her."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. What's her name, I'll check on her." Max said as he softened his face in the compassionate way that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"Terri Dunn. Thanks." She replied looking down at her shoes not quite understanding why this young doctor was talking to them. He couldn't possibly be the hospital director or J.C.'s father. But as she looked up at him she saw several similarities: the same jawline, thick hair, though J.C.'s was lighter, almost a dirty blond, and the eyes—J.C. had hazel eyes that changed and reflected whatever wardrobe choice he had made that day, today they shone with a greenish tinge, but the shape and what the eyes held were the very same. There was also something about them as they stood together they she couldn't even begin to describe. A certain strength? An understanding of something that they could only see? She wasn't sure, but there was no denying it was there. Some kind of combined power or perception that no one was privy to.

"Consider it done. "Did you eat?" Max asked turning his attention back to his son.

J.C. nodded, his head bobbing up and down just as his stomach growled in protest, calling out the lie and deceptive nature of its owner. It was almost as if it had a mind of its own. Upset of its owners denial.

Max thrust his chin away from his son, indicating that he want a moment in private. J.C. hung his head but walked towards his father who had moved several feet away and next to the wall as Meredith watched the father and son steal a private moment.

"We talked about this. Didn't we? "

"I guess," J.C. admitted.

"You have to eat and you have to tell me the truth."

"I just forgot about it."

"You always forget about it, which is why your stomach reminds you. You can't ignore it."

"I know. I'm sorry. But you don't eat like your supposed to either."

"Here, take this," Max said as he pulled a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to his son. "Take Meredith to the cafeteria and get something for both of you. And you're right I don't eat like I'm supposed to, but it's often because I'm busy. Who told you that anyway?"

J.C. shrugged. "I don't know. Georgia I think."

"Well take the money, get something for the two of you. Something healthy, and no soda."

"Okay."

"And J.C.," Max said as his son had turned to leave, "we'll talk more about this later."

"Okay," J.C. repeated as he took the money and walked back over to his friend and lead her back from where they had originally come from.

They both waved back at Max as they headed down the hallway, as he watched them wait for the elevator and then disappear inside of it.

With Georgia making the decision to stay in Manhattan and Max moving back home it was easier on them all. He did have a talk with J.C. about his eating habits and was able to at least monitor his son's breakfast. He made sure the boy ate before he left for school. He didn't think J.C. had any body image issues. He had to be reminded to comb his hair and change his shirt on a regular basis. And definitely wasn't one to constantly check his appearance in the mirror or take selfies. He really didn't seem to care much at all about how or what he looked like and he certainly wasn't overweight, so Max wasn't sure what was bringing on this lack of desire towards nutrition. But then he was aware that most eating disorders didn't make sense to those who didn't suffer from them. He knew he was a lousy example and understood how sometimes life got in the way of proper meals. But J.C. wasn't running a large hospital and had a much more normal schedule, so it did worry Max, it worried him a lot as to what was going on. He sighed as he realized just how much he was dealing with: his son's issues, his relationship with Georgia and the baby's health, and, oh yeah, his cancer diagnosis that was still a secret to nearly everyone. No wonder he would lose himself in his work. It was easier than dealing with his own life and all of its problems. He was just about to get up from the couch and get ready for work when he heard Georgia's phone ring. She answered it and headed towards him.

Max was all movement, barely contained movement at that, as he squirmed all over the couch waiting for his wife to finish her conversation with the obstetrician. "Well?" He asked, his eyes wide as his eyebrows danced.

"Where's J.C.?" She asked suddenly realizing that he wasn't in the room.

"He left for school. Something about getting there early and checking the volcano for science class. So is the news good?"

"It is," Georgia squealed. "It cleared itself. I'm fine, Luna is fine and I'm off bed rest!"

"That's great. And just in time for the Gala. Will you come tonight? I have J.C.'s tux hanging from the back of his door. You two would make a great couple."

"How could I decline that offer. Two Goodwin men on my arms, I've died and gone to heaven."

Max and Georgia embraced enjoying their moment of triumph before Max cleared his throat. "What?" Georgia asked. "What's wrong?"

Max sat down on the couch and pulled his wife down next to him. "Do you think he's okay? J.C.? Is he working through things?"

"How does he work through an experience like that? I mean, I'm not even aware of all the details but it would seem to me that what he experienced isn't something you just walk away from without lasting effects."

"So, is it good or bad that he gets up, goes to school, learns, and is seemingly normal?"

Georgia shrugged. "I don't know Max. I honestly have no idea. He does work with a therapist, isn't he the one you should be asking?"

"I guess so. But he doesn't see J.C. in his daily routines like we do. Often the clues are in the mundane routines of life."

"I know you worry about him. I do too. I try and watch out for anything out of the ordinary. I think he knows that I'm watching him carefully and he doesn't care for it much. He senses that I walk on egg shells around him. Plus I'm constantly concerned that I might say the wrong thing, something that might remind him or set him off.

"He Skyped with Karen last night. Told her he was going to the benefit tonight to help you raise funds. He seemed pretty proud of it."

Max smiled. "I don't want to take him from her, but I have to protect him."

"I know. I get it."

"But will she?"

"No. She'll see it as an attack. You want to take her child away from her."

"But that's just it. I don't. I just want her to understand what she allowed to happen. How it changed his life; changed it to a degree that he will never be the child he was before. His innocence not only lost but shattered. There has to be consequences for that. There just has to be." Max said with a tear welling up as he tried to blink it away. "She can't pretend this never happened, he doesn't have that luxury."

"I don't think she pretends that it never happened."

"Then where is she Georgia? Hmm, where the hell is she? Do you think it's because she can't face me?"

"No. I think it's because she can't face J.C."

Playlist: Ain't No Mountain High Enough

The Humbling River by Pucscifer

I will update as I can...since the storyline intertwines with the show to a degree, I may have to wait for episodes to air in order to continue. Thank you for reading!


	3. Cancer Sucks

Cancer Sucks!

Meredith dragged her french fry through the puddle of ketchup on her plate as she sighed. She looked across the hospital cafeteria table at J.C. who was watching her play with her food. "Have some. These were supposed to be for both of us," she said shoving the plate his direction.

"No thanks. Just not in a french fry mood. Besides, I have this," he said holding up a banana.

"All you have to do is get up in the morning to be in a french fry kind of mood. You're practically un-American." She said with a puzzled look on her face. "And, you haven't even peeled that banana yet. Eat something. I'm beginning to think you don't ever eat. I sit with you at lunch and watch you pick at everything."

J.C. tilted his head and then shook it. He looked at the fruit in his hand and began to peel it in a slow and methodical manner. He pulled off the top part of the pale fruit and placed it in his mouth and chewed. "See. I eat."

"You want a round of applause?"

"You offering?"

J.C. and Meredith and been regular companions during her mothers stay at the hospital. With Georgia no longer on bed-rest, J.C. was able to rally for extra time at New Amsterdam. She even acknowledged him at school and had taken to sitting with him at lunch sometimes. A definite bond had formed, but J.C. still wasn't certain how strong it was or how long it would last.

"So how's your mom doing?" J.C. asked.

"Take another bite of banana and I'll tell you," she teased. He crammed another piece into his mouth and then smiled with a full mouth. "I heard them talking about her going to hospice."

"What's that?" 

"I don't know. Nobody tells me anything. I don't know if it's good or bad." J.C. began to chew on his bottom lip. "You think it's bad don't you?" She asked.

He shrugged. "I was just thinking that if it was good that they would probably tell you. But maybe they're not sure yet so they want to wait until some test results come back before they tell you good news."

Meredith looked over at J.C.'s phone that was sitting next to his elbow that was perched on the table. "Do you want me to look?" He asked as he followed her gaze.

"Yes. No. Maybe. Yes, look." She said shoving the tray with the fried potatoes and ketchup aside.

J.C. laid his half-eaten banana on the table and picked up his phone. He went to his search bar and after a couple of tries got the results he was looking for. His eyes scanned the words and he looked up and across the table.

"It's bad isn't it?"

"It says hospice is a place for people to go that won't get better."

"Like they're going to stay sick?"

"Like they're never going to get better and soon they'll—"

"They'll die," Meredith finished as her eye's began to glisten.

"Yeah," J.C. agreed. "I'm so sorry."

"I need to get out of here. I need fresh air." She said in a frantic tone.

"I'm not supposed to go outside without an adult," J.C. answered.

"I feel like I can't breathe." She said as her panicked face looked to J.C. for help.

"Okay, follow me." He said reaching out for her hand.

He towed her along the corridors until he found a short hallway that led to a little used door to the outside that wouldn't sound an alarm. He knew the staff often used this door to step outside for a quick smoke break. It was chilly and sprinkling outside but Meredith noticed neither. J.C. pulled her around a corner and out of the direct line of sight from anyone who might step outside. But he also knew there was no place to hide and it wouldn't take much effort for anyone to see them.

"When were they going to tell me? When she was dead?" Meredith asked.

"Like I said, maybe their waiting for test results."

"They don't need any results, they already know there is nothing left to try. That's why they are talking about this hospice place.

"I think she has a new cancer anyway. I heard them talking about, metasta something. You're a doctors kid, what does that mean?"

"My dad's the doctor, not me." J.C. said, wishing he knew how to help his friend. He pulled out his phone again, wiping away the drops that were splashing on its screen. It didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for as he heard the door open and close behind them. Metastasized? Did they say that was the problem?"

"Yeah, metastasized," she nodded. "What's it mean?"

"It means that the cancer spread to other parts of her body."

"And what does that mean?"

"That it's really hard to treat. And people often give up on medical treatment."

"And go to hospice." Meredith finished.

"I'm so sorry," J.C. repeated, wishing he had something better to offer in words, actions and answers. He took a step towards her and she grabbed him and held him in an embrace.

They stood outside for a while. The drizzle, lightening up but still dripping. J.C. had heard the door open and close several times, but as of yet nobody had said anything to them.

"Thanks for being with me. She's been sick for so long that I can't even remember when she wasn't. There have even been times when I wished—"

"Wished what?" J.C. asked.

"You'll think I'm horrible."

"I won't. I promise."

"I wished that if she couldn't get better that she'd just die. I mean it's like our whole lives are in limbo. My dad tries to to to work, take care of me, pay all of the bills, taker her to her appointments, sit in the hospital with her. It's been like this for so long I can't remember what normal is. I'm a terrible daughter."

"No you're not. You just want life to be regular, like it was before."

"But it never will be will it?"

"I don't think so," J.C. replied.

After several minutes of quiet, Meredith took a deep breath and said she was ready to back inside.

Despite the rain, the kids were only slightly wet from the drops that had plagued them on their outing. Meredith was shaking her her hair, freeing it from the bits of dampness when she looked over at her companion. "What's J.C. stand for? I keep forgetting to ask you." She asked as they slipped back inside the short corridor.

J.C. looked up and saw his father standing by the edge of the nearby hallway. "I have a feeling you're about to find out."

She looked at him confused, but quickly understood the circumstances. She recalled J.C. stating that he wasn't allowed outside without an adult and here she had pushed him to go against the rules. She had seen Dr. Goodwin several times during her visits as he had always made a point to check on her mother and father as well as herself. But she had never thought of him as a father, only a doctor. But the look on his face was clearly one of an angry and disappointed parent, not the soothing and uplifting gaze of a concerned physician.

Max greeted them as they neared with his arms crossed and an equally tense look on his face. Clearly one of those times the door had opened and closed while the kids were outside, led to a staff member letting their boss know his son was beyond the boundaries.

"What's the rule? Huh? What is the rule?" Max demanded with no preamble as J.C. walked up to him.

"I don't go outside unless you are another trusted adult is with me," J.C. replied looking over his father's shoulder and vague spot on the wall.

"Then what made you think it was okay to go outside by yourself?"

"We just needed some air," J.C. tried.

"Not a good enough reason," Max replied his head tilted, eyes directly on his son. "You know better than that."

"Sorry," the boy huffed, embarrassed that he had been busted in front of his friend who was looking around wanting to be anywhere but where she was.

"I want you in my office right now," Max stated. "You'll stay there the rest of the night and I want your homework done and you can also write out the reality checklist."

"I need to walk Meredith to her mom's room, she doesn't know the way from here." J.C. protested.

"Zeke can take her," Max said, his body rigid, his eyes still far from calm.

"Why can't I?"

"Because you disobeyed me and broke one of the golden rules." Max said referring to a rule that has no wiggle room. It had been stated early and often that J.C. was never to go outside alone, especially at night. As far as Max knew the rule had never been broken, but now he wondered. Maybe he was just showing off for his friend or perhaps he was repeating an action that he had partaken in several times before but had not been caught. Security kept an eye on him, but he wasn't their responsibility which is why Max needed to know that the boy was following the rules of his own accord.

Meredith was shifting her weight as she found herself still wondered what the boys initials stood for. She cleared her throat causing J.C. to look over at her. She had a feeling that both the Goodwin's had forgotten her presence. Max blinked and softened his expression. "I'll get Zeke. Stay here."

J.C. shuffled his feet and put his hands in his pocket. "Jason Christopher. That's what J.C. stands for." He said seemingly aware of Meredith's unspoken thoughts. "My mom named me."

"I like it," she said, her face growing pink as the emotions still swirled in the air. "I'm sorry that you got into trouble." She said looking into the boys hazel eyes that now looked blue, much like his fathers.

"It's not your fault. It'll be okay. Are you going to be okay?"

"I will be, eventually," she whispered as Dr. Goodwin came back with the husky security guard trailing behind him.

"Zeke will take you to your mother's room. What you tell your parents is up to you. But J.C. is going to be out of the tour business for a week."

"Okay. Sorry Dr. Goodwin. We didn't mean anything."

Max sighed. "I know, but you have to understand that a lot of activity goes on out there and much of isn't good. You guys just can't be outside alone. It's for your own safety."

"I understand." She turned to Zeke who nodded at her waved that she should follow him.

J.C. followed his father down the hallway and towards the elevator. He once again touched the scar on his neck and silently berated himself for doing so. The scar that had held a power over him that he couldn't begin to understand. The bits of horrific memories that had etched itself into his soul as it had his skin. The day that he pushed from his thoughts a dozen times a day—the day that invaded his dreams and woke him with a pounding heart and drenched sheets. The day he didn't die but he probably should have. Despite still unable to recall the events of those hours, it still hung over him much like the rain that he had just experienced, hitting him over and over in tiny, unrelenting bits. It was like he was drowning in a puddle he wasn't aware he stepped in, and he could only forget when he was with Meredith; she held that kind of power over him—her sadness of the unknown allowing him to feel a strength that he believed had left him forever. One day she would move on, no longer sitting with him in the cafeteria. Finding more from the groups who were smarter, funnier, better looking, more athletic, smarter; popular. But for now, for now she sat with him. She listened to him, she leaned on him, her smile felt real to him. And it was the one bit of sunshine in his life.

Kids often asked him about the scars but he brushed them off every time as they wouldn't believe him anyway. It was supposed to be safe—she had said it was safe—she had promised. They had both believed her, now uncertainty reigned on whether either could forgive her for being wrong—so very wrong.

J.C. looked over at the drably painted walls. "Can't they find a better color than puke green?"

"It was probably on sale," Max replied recalling a day so many years ago when someone else he had loved commented on the wall color in another hospital.

~~Thirteen years ago~~

"Is that shade of yellow that should be used in a hospital? It makes me want to cry," nurse Karen Austin stated as she tossed her sandy blond hair back.

"I think they were going for sunny," Max said.

"Looks more like a urine sample."

"Can't really argue that."

The two had seen each other in the hospital hallways but had finally officially introduced themselves. They had continually bumped into each other and despite the cliché it would seem that destiny was hard at work.

Karen had been the product of two parents who put a lot of stock in appearances. Fundamentalist Christians they were very good at talking the talk, wearing a cloak of righteousness, but seemed unable to walk the walk and that soured the relationship from the beginning as Karen, since the moment of her birth was a great believer in not only walking, but of marathons.

It was her job to be polite, smart and have a suitable career. They approved of her choice of nursing, believing it would lead to a relationship with an even more suitable doctor. Once married she could leave her career behind, settle down in a McMansion on a golf course with their two children, one boy, one girl and their well behaved golden doodle. It was a perfect plan. The only problem was that it was their plan, not Karen's.

She and Max had an on again off again and at times whirlwind of a relationship. They had real feelings for each other but their careers took much of their time and energy. Karen had returned to school and two months before getting her advanced degree she discovered she was pregnant. She wasn't sure how she felt about the development. She had no desire to marry, settle down or do anything remotely like the plan that her parents had once laid down for her. She shared her news, then came ultrasounds, decisions, blue painted bedrooms and the conclusion that the best the couple was capable of was co-parenting.

It was a mutual decision and as an added bonus it royally pissed off her parents. They had decided that a child born out of wedlock and living in sin just would not do for them. She needed to repair her relationship with God and the only way to do that would be to do what her parents had wanted. She had literally laughed them off on the one and only day she had shared her son with them. When she had knowingly caused derision by naming her son Jason Christopher or J.C. for short, in their eyes mocking a famous figure they claimed took center in their lives, they told her they never wanted to see her again. That was fine by her.

J.C.'s first two years were spent being shuffled back forth between his parents depending on shifts and exhaustion. Then came the day when Karen needed more—she needed adventure—she needed jungles, mountains, deserts. She needed to help those who needed it the most. At first she went alone, Southeast Asia: Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, then Central America: El Salvador, Guatemala, Costa Rica, returning for months to regroup and spend time with her son, gathering supplies for the next trip. But once J.C. was five he began to accompany her. She wanted, almost needed him to see the world. Not the world where doctors go on vacation, with beaches and yachts, the world where bad things had happened and good people needed help repair what had gone wrong. If nothing else, Karen wanted her son to know that kindness wasn't good enough, you had to step in, you had to help if you could. Max was the same way, though his canvas tended to be the inner city, his jungles were of the urban kind.

So, at some point during the school year she would pull her son from school, finish the curriculum while he accompanied her to South America, Haiti, India, Africa. Recently they had had a successful jaunt to Kenya she expected the same in Uganda, but it wasn't the case. Not even close. She had been told there had been no problems. She had been told it was safe. Or, that was simply the belief that she chose to cling to.

~~Present Time~~

The elevator doors snapped shut, enclosing Max and his son inside along with several other people all standing in awkward silence. J.C. had never been afraid of his father, and he wasn't now, but there had been something in the mans eyes that concerned him. He had pushed the limits, gotten caught and was going to see just how scared his father was. In years past being somewhere he wasn't supposed to be always brought on some sort of reprimand and/or punishment, but since—well since Uganda everything had changed.

"Do you think I can Skype with Mom?" J.C. asked quietly.

Max shook himself out of his private thoughts. "I don't know. I'm not sure what time it is there."

"She said I can try anytime, even if she's asleep she would probably hear the prompt."

"Maybe. We'll see."

Max knew that J.C. liked to be outside, liked to walk. And they would go for walks together when Max felt comfortable enough to leave the hospital for a few minutes. Father and son would go up to the roof and pretend that they could see the stars or they would walk a few blocks around the hospital making up stories about the people behind the windows. They would talk, generally of nothing important, but often that meant that it was just that. Routines, new loves, new likes, trials, tribulations all of it had a chance to come to light during these brief moments of togetherness, moments they both needed more than either had realized.

But right now, Max was mad. He was mad at so many things and what J.C. had done wasn't really one of them. Yes he was upset that his son had defied him but that was the least of it. He was mad that they lived in world whether here or a remote area a thousand miles away contained enough danger to make the fear of a child standing alone very real. He was mad that his son so easily disregarded the rules that had been laid down. He was mad that he had no idea how many times that the boy had done this and equally angry that he would probably never get an honest answer. He was mad that he never had enough time to do it all. He was mad that he may run out of time before any of it was done. He was mad that despite their last experience together J.C. still wanted to reach out to his mother. But mostly he was mad that anything could have happened to his son tonight while he was outside on streets, streets that held their own rules and often those rules cared little for whom they hurt. If he couldn't protect his son than he was no better than her and since the papers should have arrived by now he really needed to be better.

They finally reached their floor and Max ushered his son out of the elevator and down the hall. They arrived at his office and Max grabbed the boys backpack that was sitting near the doorway. "I want you to do your homework, plus any extra credit that is offered and I want you to write out the Rules of Life ten times." Max said speaking of the creed that both he and Karen agreed to raise their son by.

"Ten times?" J.C. complained.

"Ten times and I recommend that you not whine about it or it will be fifteen."

"Seriously?"

"Oh I'm very serious, Jason," Max confirmed. He generally called his son J.C. but often used his full name while in a serious conversation. He also called him Jay, Jace and when trouble really brewed, Jason Christopher.

The name had been Karen's choice and though he had no issue with it in general, it was the reason behind it that bothered him. He often felt that her life's goals were to get back at her parents no matter what it cost her or their son. He had wanted to name the boy Jacob or Jake for short. But it was clear from the beginning he would have very little say in the matter.

"Fine." J.C. huffed.

"Look kiddo, if you didn't want to be punished then perhaps you shouldn't have broken the rules."

"But you break them all the time."

Max smiled, his jaw still aching from his recent oral surgery. "You're right I do. But why do I break them?"

J.C. drew in a big breath and looked around the room then at his father. "To help people. Do the wrong thing for the right reason."

"Exactly."

"But I was helping Meredith. She needed to get out of the hospital, she was going crazy. Her breathing was getting all funny."

"I'm sure your heart was in the right place, but going outside without an adult and without permission is one rule that can't be broken."

"But Zeke couldn't go with us," J.C. argued.

"Zeke has a job that he has to do and isn't responsible for you."

"He goes out with me sometimes," J.C. offered.

"I know he does. He tells me and he's on his break. That is allowed. What happened tonight was not allowed and you are well aware of that. Now get started on your homework and your rules. If you need me call my cell phone."

"When will you be done?"

"Hopefully by 9:00."

"You work too hard. You're going to work yourself to death. Meredith's mom is dying."

"I know she is. Cancer is an awful thing. Sometimes it wins." Max smiled at his son, but it was weak without much conviction and it didn't come close to reaching his eyes. The boy still knew nothing of his diagnosis and there had been no good time to tell him. He had told his son that his recent dental work was because he hadn't brushed his teeth well enough. He figured he might as well use his pain to help contribute to better overall oral health in the family. He didn't want to keep his cancer a secret it was just that there was still so many things on the youngsters plate that had to be dealt with before Max dumped more onto it. But he also knew he was almost out of excuses and time. Treatment was going to start soon and as Georgia said, they wouldn't be able to hide it once Max began to feel its effects.

"I'll be back soon."

"When can I look at the footage?" J.C. asked concerning the video footage that had caught so much of what had happened that day in Uganda—the reason he had returned home early, the reason he had nightmares, the reason for his scars.

"We've talked about this." Max sighed not wanting to deal with this particular topic again. "You need to keep talking to Dr. Mayfield," speaking of J.C.'s psychiatrist, "and when he thinks you're ready then we can discuss it. Neither one of us thinks that you're ready for it."

"When will I be ready? Will I ever be ready? I can't remember so much of it, just bits and pieces. Like when a certain smell hits me or sometimes a sound. But even then I'm not sue what I am remembering. It's like it's jumbled up, I'm jumbled up."

Classic PTSD Max thought. "Your mind blocks things to protect you, that's why it's best not to rush things. It might just be too much for you."

"Maybe. But it's like I feel incomplete. I have these scars and I see them every day and sometimes people ask me about them and I don't know, I mean not really. It's like I have an idea, but I can't see it, picture it."

"I know. We can discuss it with Dr. Mayfield next time if you want." Max said as he heard his name being paged. "I've got to go. Get to work."

"Okay," J.C. said with a sigh.

"Don't leave the office."

"I won't."

"And stay off your phone!"

"I will."

"Meredith knows her mother is dying. Cancer sucks!"

"Indeed it does," Max managed to choke out before he turned and left.

An hour and half later J.C. picked his head up off of his father's desk. He had finished all of his homework, done the extra credit and started writing out his rules before his fingers cramped up and he decided to take a chance and play a couple of games on his phone. It didn't take long before the battery spiraled down to near nothing and he put it on the charger and went back to the desk and looked at where he left off. He wrote out one more before he tossed his pen aside. The rules had been instituted by both of his parents and he was expected to abide by them each and every day of his life. And when he was caught defying them, as he was tonight, there was always a reminder.

 **Rules of Life**

 **You will not be rewarded for bad behavior**

 **Being told no is a part of life. Get over it.**

 **You are free to make your choice, you are not free of the consequences.**

 **Life is not fair.**

 **You are not the boss.**

 **The world does not revolve around you.**

 **Respect is earned, it is not just given.**

 **The world owes you nothing. Work for it.**

 **Fits and tantrums will get you nothing so don't waste your time.**

 **You put yourself here. You need to fix you.**

 **Shut your mouth, open your ears.**

He looked over and saw his dad's laptop laying off to the side. He flipped the lid up and cruised around the different programs, he knew the video was hidden somewhere. Usually the computer was password protected, but Max must have forgotten to log off before he walked away from it. He had no idea where the footage might be and really didn't think he could afford to get caught doing something else he wasn't supposed to be doing tonight so he just went over to Skype and put in a call to his mother.

It rang and rang and he realized it was very early in the morning and despite her offer that he could call even if she was sleeping perhaps it wasn't a real offer or maybe she was asleep and just didn't hear it. He was about to give up when a face popped up on the screen.

"J.C. hey there. How are you?" Miranda asked with her perky Australian cadence.

"I'm fine. Is my mother around?"

"As a matter of fact she is. She just got done delivering a baby. A healthy six pound girl. I'll get her for you."

J.C. mumbled a thank you as the nurse disappeared off camera. A minute later his mother's face popped on the screen as she dried her hands. "J.C. my love, it's so good to see your face. How are you doing?"

"I'm okay."

"Where are you?" She asked her dark blond ponytail bouncing behind her.

"Dad's office."

"At the hospital?"

"Yep."

"What time is it there?"

"Almost nine. What time is it there?"

"Almost four."

"Afternoon or morning?" J.C. asked thinking it had been morning but realizing he wasn't sure.

"Morning I'm afraid. But babies wait for no one and on top of that miracle I get to talk to you."

"How's the mother doing?"

"She's great. She walked over an hour here in active labor. She'll be fine. Dad working late again?"

"I guess."

"How's school?"

"Good. I got an A on my history paper."

"What did you write about?"

"The Suez Canal."

"I wanted to go there, take you with me."

"Will I be able to come back to Africa? Is Nairobi cool?"

"Nairobi is very cool. So is Kenya I got to go on a safari last week and I saw a herd of elephants and some giraffes." She replied ignoring the first part of the question.

"Whoa, awesome," J.C. said.

"Very awesome."

"When can I see you again?"

"I'm not sure sweetie. It depends on few things." Karen said swallowing hard.

"Will you be coming back to the States soon?"

"I have a lot going on here. I may be heading to Iran soon, I'm not sure." 

"Iran? Is that safe?"

"We have some great people who take care of us."

"Did you get everything done?" Max asked as he walked into the room. "Oh, Karen, how are you? He said suddenly when he realized she was in the room via modern technology.

"Max," Karen said with a forced smile.

"Hey pal," Max said looking from the screen to his son. "I forgot my stethoscope down on the second floor. Can you go get it?" J.C. looked skeptical. Max reached up around his neck. "See no stethoscope. Ask at the nurses station where Linda sits okay?"

"Okay," J.C. finally replied. "Bye Mom."

Max was grateful that his son complied. But he waited a moment before he sat down and began to speak as he still felt his sons presence. "J.C. please go."

Outside in the hallway where J.C. had stopped just outside the doorway, he sighed and began to walk as he realized his plans on eaves dropping had been foiled by his all knowing father.

"You always had some kind of extra sensory perception when it came to him." Karen said as Max sat down in his desk chair.

"Did you get the papers?" Max asked.

"Yes I did. Leave it to you to find a way to have me served in the middle of nowhere over seven thousand miles away."

"Well, since you haven't bothered to come home I had to come to you—well the papers anyway."

Max and Karen had always gotten along, putting J.C. first and not worrying what the other was doing in their personal life as long as it didn't negatively affect the boy. But the attack in Uganda had changed everything.

The moment Max had heard about the trouble he got on the first plane and got to Kampala and then a dusty journey to the camp where J.C. and Karen remained. He was irate that she hadn't rushed him to the city as soon as he was stabilized. When he got there he could see they were both in shock and she didn't protest when he scooped up his son and immediately went back to the hospital in the capital city. Once he was medically cleared father and son made the journey back to New York and never looked back.

Karen still hadn't returned to the U.S. She had called, emailed, face timed, Skyped but had never stepped foot back on her native soil to see her child and Max just couldn't understand why. And he knew one thing for damn sure, his son was never going back to the wilds of anywhere. After the incident he had looked a little more closely at the past locations where they had been and discovered that there had been two Americans and three Brits taken for ransom not far from where they had been in El Salvador and just six months before they had arrived in Uganda, rebels had been traveling to villages that were presumed to have some type offering to make it worth their while to threaten and kill. If a camp full of doctors, nurses and medications wasn't an invitation he didn't know what was. He should have done more research. Maybe much of his anger was directed at himself for not knowing what he was sending his son into, for not questioning Karen, for just simply allowing her to take charge. Had she done any research? If she hadn't that was on her and if she had and discovered what he had, albeit too late—well that was on her as well. He believed that she had just focused too much on what she had wanted to accomplish and not much on anything else. It was like every minute that she sacrificed herself she was getting back at her parents in some form or another and that was her choice, but J.C.'s safety was not allowed to be compromised in her quest to upset her parents.

"A custody amendment. Nice Max, just what I need to deal with. You've had him the last half of my time with him already and still that's not enough."

"If you read it, you'll notice I'll drop the case if you come back to the states. There's plenty of need here, where you can have him and be safe. You don't even have to leave the five Burroughs to fulfill whatever it is that you need. And if that doesn't do it, try Chicago, Boston, Miami, Appalachia, Indian reservations. Pick one or stay where you are and then I guess you won't be choosing your son."

"Max this is ridiculous."

"It's hardly ridiculous. You haven't even bothered to come back and see how he's doing."

"I know you'll take great care of him. The doctor I spoke with said to let his routine return to normal and I thought by staying here I would be doing that."

"Well that's the easiest thing for you then isn't it? Or is it because you can't face him?"

"I'm needed here." Karen said but her voice lacked strength of conviction.

"I'm sure you are. But he needs you here and since that doesn't seem to be that important nor does the fact that he is no way ready to travel now or perhaps ever again. Your choice seems clear and since it doesn't include J.C. I figured we'd just make it official. I get full custody, you have visitation rights that will be discussed when you return home and under no circumstances is he to leave the continental United States."

"Dramatic don't you think?"

"How can you be so blasé about this? He almost died. He still can't remember most of what happened because it's just too much for him. His doctor said he may never recall most of it."

"Not a bad thing I suppose."

"Maybe, maybe not. It depends if it starts leaking into his fears and decision making without him even realizing it. What happened to him is a lifelong sentence with ramifications that we can never know or understand and you can at least act like it matters and that you bear some kind of responsibility."

"That's what you want isn't it? An admission that I am guilty of being unaware. That I knowingly put our son in danger. What I get is that you have your wife, a new baby on the way , a great new job and locking up full custody of our son will be the cherry on top. Look, I have to go. I'll email you."

"Just sign the papers, don't drag this out. I am just trying to keep our son safe. You don't want some family court judge to ask why you can't be bothered to show up for court or to watch that damn video where twenty people are slaughtered all around out son while he is slashed like a balloon that they wanted to pop."

"Fuck you Max," she said with conviction before she disconnected the call as tears brimmed and finally began to fall.

A/N...sorry for the delay...life gets in the way sometimes.

Play list: Here with Me by Susie Suh when J.C. and Meredith are outside

Dirty Paws by Monster's and Men when J.C. and Max are in the elevator

The Day I Was Born by Brother Dege when Max and Karen are skyping


	4. Omission

**Omission**

"J.C. this is Dr. Frome. Dr. Frome this is J.C." Max introduced.

"We met at the gala. I danced with his daughter." J.C. stated, looking back at Max. "Is your name really Iggy Frome?"

"Why yes it is. Is that okay?"

"Of course it is. In fact I like it, it's not stuffy or," J.C. paused looking for the right word, "pompous."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it." The doctor said as he looked down and smiled at his colleagues son.

"Okay kiddo," Max said as he bent down and made eye contact with his son. "I'm going to leave you with Dr. Frome. Open up to him as best you can, he's a great doctor." J.C. nodded. "When you're done let's play that game that we play on your nights here."

"Hide and seek?" J.C. questioned.

"Yep. Well, I'm not really hiding, more like roaming around working and you aren't really seeking, just trying to find me which I guess is a lot like seeking. But anyway we'll catch up later," Max said, the words burbling from his mouth in a rush.

"His words are like a waterfall. They just rush out," Iggy said as Max disappeared down the hall.

"You should see him at parent teacher conferences. Well, when he remembers them."

"Has he always been like this?"

J.C. took a deep breath in before he gave an emphatic yes.

"Okay, sit wherever you would like," Dr. Frome said opening his arms to show the entire room that he used in his work with the kids. J.C. looked around and finally chose the Lego table, a favorite among the boys. "So you've been seeing Dr. Mayfield?"

"Yeah, he's nice," J.C. said as he began to snap plastic pieces together.

"Can you tell me what's going on with you?"

"If I knew, then I wouldn't need Dr. Mayfield or you."

"I suppose that's true. But you had something happen to you a few months ago. Is that right?"

J.C. looked at the doctor who was looking down at the scars on his arms and neck. "I was with my mom. They took her and the doctors and nurses and—and—and then I don't remember. I know they didn't take me or a bunch of other civilians. Bad things happened to them." The boy said quietly.

"Sometimes when really bad things happen our mind protects us by hiding the memories."

J.C. stayed quiet as he continued to snap the colorful bricks together. He pushed the wall he had built into the top layer of the table, tightly securing it, and grabbed some wheels and began to create some kind of vehicle.

Iggy cleared his throat and continued. "There are times when reality is so unbearable that the mind refuses to see it. It's a protective measure. Have you wanted to hurt yourself?"

"No," J.C. said, snapping piece of plastic to piece of plastic.

"Okay. Have you felt other people have wanted to hurt you?"

"No," J.C. said continuing to focus on his building project.

"Do you ever want to hurt other people?"

"No."

"Do you hear voices?"

"Just from people telling what to do and not to do." Dr. Frome smiled. "Never from people that aren't there," J.C. clarified. "Though I suppose if I saw them I would think they were there whether they were or not. But I don't think I'm seeing or hearing from people that aren't really there."

Iggy smiled as he continued. "Do you suddenly get mad at people for no reason. Or not want to do normal every day things?" I

"No and no. You know what I want Doc? I want to remember. Because I feel like this is my world, my memory," J.C. said pointing, indicating the Lego wall he had built. "And this is me," he said taking the small car he had just built and smashing it into the wall sending the pieces flying. "I can't get through, I can't go anywhere until this wall is gone. I have scars on the outside but I don't remember how I got them., because the inside is blank. All those people died and I can't even be bothered to remember them."

"And it's making what's inside you confusing and broken?"

"Yes," the boy answered with tears welling up in his eyes.

"What do you remember of that day?"

J.C. squeezed what was left of the Lego car in his left hand. "Yelling, lots of yelling and dirt in the air. Claude's hand. I was holding his hand. My arms burned, my neck burned. That's it. I know they all died, but I can't remember it."

Iggy touched J.C.'s hand and gently opened it. The plastic bricks had left quite an imprint where the boy had clenched them so tightly.

"Can't you do something so that I'll remember? I have to remember."

"Why? Why do you have to remember?"

"Because I'm broken inside and I'm afraid if I can't fix it, I'll be broken on the outside too."

"What would that be like?"

"Like the questions you were asking me. If I don't get this off my chest, I'll never be able to breathe. I have to get fixed. My mom won't even come see me."

"Because of what happened?"

J.C. shrugged. "I guess. After it happened my dad came and picked me up and we came back to New York, but my mom hasn't come back yet. She said she would but then she went to Nairobi instead. She said it just came up and she had to go. Now she said she might go to Iran."

"But you don't believe her?"

The boy just shrugged again. "I don't know what to believe anymore. Nothing seems real. I mean if I can forget all those people being murdered right in front of me what does that say about me?"

"What happened to you was horrific," Iggy began.

"No!" J.C. yelled as he stood up. "What happened to them was horrific. I just sat there and watched it all happen. Why didn't they kill me?"

Iggy stayed seated and looked the boy in the eyes. "I don't know why they didn't kill you. Maybe they intended to," he said nodding at the scar on J.C.'s neck. "What you're feeling is called survivor's guilt. Do you know that means?"

"No," J.C. said standing still as his eyes glared at the psychiatrist.

"It means that you feel guilty or that you did something wrong because you survived something so many others didn't. But you did nothing wrong."

"How do I know that if I can't remember anything?"

"I can't imagine what that experience was like for you. But maybe we ought to focus on how deal with the fact that you may never remember what happened that day."

"You don't understand. I don't have to remember."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"There were camera's. The whole thing was recorded, there's video footage. I'm done for today," J.C. said as he walked past Dr. Frome abruptly and out the door leaving the doctor uncertain what to do next.

Iggy has spent the remainder of the time he had allotted for J.C. and contemplated what would be the best course of action. The boy's problem wasn't one that was going have an easy fix or simple solution, no, there was going to be pain, tears, terror and an outcome that he may not be able to foresee. The next day he finally had caught up with Max. "We need to talk."

"Yes we do. I tried to find you this morning," Max said.

"You did?"

"No, not really but it sounded better than if I hadn't said it. So what's up?"

"J.C. and I had an interesting conversation and I have no doubt that he suffers from survivor's syndrome or survivor's—"

"Survivor's guilt. Yeah I figured as much. What else did he tell you?"

"I'm not going to break confidentiality, but I'll give you the basics."

As Iggy finished Max inhaled and looked into the distance.

"Is it true that there were cameras?"

"Yes. There was a large donation that made the trip possible and the benefactor wanted to be able to see what happened on a daily basis. There were cameras set up inside the surgical tent and two outside where many of the patients were seen. From what I understood they were motion activated. They captured everything. It was edited together in the hopes to capture the perpetrators."

"Have they?"

"No. Not to my knowledge."

"Do you know why they didn't kill your son?"

"From what the locals could track down was that they figured he was an American or from a first world nation and they didn't want to bring down the wrath of some powerful foreign government or call international attention to their attacks."

"But his injuries could have killed him."

"Yes. By the time he was found he had lost a lot of blood and was in shock. But the attack on him wasn't as viscous, maybe they had planned to kill him but it was called off at the last second. Maybe they realized what his death might bring. Or maybe they just had to hurry up and leave the area and didn't do a thorough job. I don't think we'll ever really know."

"They released the medical team, his mother included?"

"They released them a few miles from the camp. It took them hours to find their way back. And when they did, well they found out what had happened."

"Why did they take them?"

"Guerrilla warfare causes injuries. They needed the medical care."

"Why not take over the medical camp then?"

"They had already taken over a small and better equipped medical facility with real walls and beds. But the staff had either been killed or ran away. They took only what they needed, doctor's and nurses."

"And let them go?"

"The abductors wore masks, bandanna's over the bottom of their faces. I'm not sure if they let all of them go or not. I'm not privy to all the details. I have no idea what they went through while being held captive. But the killers that stayed behind didn't bother disguising their faces."

"Because they knew they were going to kill everyone." Iggy said, pondering the scenario.

"Everyone except for one small boy, which makes me think they intended to kill him. Maybe the man who did it had a moment of compassion."

"Perhaps. Like you said, we'll never know." Iggy sighed, understanding for a moment J.C.'s frustration.

"You said he recalled holding Claude's hand?" Max asked.

"Yes. Does that mean anything?"

"Maybe you should watch the video."

"You have it?"

"I do. It's on my laptop."

Twenty minutes later Max was staring off into the distance while Dr. Frome wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye. "Christ. I never imagined—"

"Yeah. It's pretty damn awful."

"It's beyond awful. No wonder his brain can't process it. Was he verbal when you picked him up?"

"Barely. He didn't say anything the first day and only spoke when he was spoken to for weeks afterward. Do you think he'll ever remember it?"

"I can't say. He may never recall it. He may recall pieces of it, or one day all of it will flood his system. A place, a smell, a voice, anything could trigger a memory. He's clearly still disassociating and it obviously involves amnesia. I'm not sure what might happen when he begins to process what happened, if he's even able to do so."

"So do we help him remember piece by piece and deal with it or do we leave it to chance that one day he will smell something that takes him back to that day and he totally freaks out?"

"I don't know Max. I don't know. This, this—well I don't even know what to think. I'll need help to come up with a plan. The fear that if we don't deal with this in some manner it could come back to haunt him in the future.

"Repressed memories may never be recalled but can still affect a person even years and years later. They can cause fear of abandonment, sleep issues, relationship issues, self sabotage. And he'll have no idea why." Iggy explained.

"How can they be fixed if he doesn't know why these things are happening?"

"Or, he may have no such issues. But the fact he so badly wants to find out scares me. Does he know you have the video on your laptop?"

"I don't know. I've never told him. But I'm sure he suspects that I'm in possession of it."

"Is it password protected?"

"Yes. All the time. Well, most of the time." Max said thinking back to recent evenings when J.C. had been in his office with the laptop.

"Make sure it's all of the time. I want to talk to him more. Three times a week if possible."

"No problem," Max replied.

"Check your computer, that password is imperative." Max nodded as he pulled his buzzing phone from his pocket and looked at it. "Max, I believe he was in a dissociative state, where a piece was fractured from his consciousness in order to survive a traumatic situation. People who go into a dissociative state experience memory lapses, just as J.C. has and still appear quite normal, just as J.C. does. This state is not voluntary, it's generally caused by extreme psychological distress. His personality hasn't split off as a protective measure and that's a good thing. But—"

"But what?" Max asked as his eyes no longer could focus on the phone in front of him.

"But, I have no idea what the future holds for him."

A couple of weeks later Iggy saw J.C. heading his way. "Nice to see you again. It's been a few weeks. I was hoping to see you more regularly—or at all."

"Sorry. I have been to Dr. Mayfield a couple of times. But he is going on some kind of leave due to personal reasons. My dad said he'd set up a schedule with you."

"Right of course."

"He hasn't done has he?"

Iggy gave a tight smile thinking of his calendar that was vacant of the name Goodwin. "I'll pencil you in. Twice a week after school sound good?"

"Sure," J.C. replied.

"By the way, what are you doing here in the middle of the afternoon on a school day?" He asked as he looked at his watch.

"Parent teacher conferences."

"Did Max—?"

"Remember? No. But Georgia did. She went to the school, I came here. Have you seen him?"

"Not lately. I'm sure he's around somewhere."

"Where is your file Max?" Dr. Sharpe asked.

"On my desk," Max admitted. "I wanted to take another look at our plan."

"No changes. You, I, and Georgia talked about this. Agreed upon it. Have you told J.C. or the staff yet?"

"No. Not yet. But I will."

"You'll have to. The side effects are going to be quite noticeable and you won't be able to hide them."

"Let's get started," Max said said heading towards the table. He had already been having second thoughts about his treatment plan. The side effects were scaring him much more than the disease.

"Nope." Helen replied.

"Nope?" Max questioned.

"Not until I have your file. Where did you leave it?"

Max sighed. "It's on my desk. Can't I give it to you later?"

"No. I need to make accurate notes and in order to do that I must have the file at the time of treatment, not when you eventually get it to me. Run and get it while I take care of something else."

Max hung his head as he headed for the door and his office.

J.C. having no better plan headed towards his father's office. He found it empty as he entered. He tossed himself on the couch as he took in the scent of cardboard from the unpacked boxes that remained stacked against the wall. He thought of Meredith, who no longer came to the hospital after her mother had been discharged and moved to hospice. He would see her at school, moving through the hallways, silent and hollow, going through what suddenly felt like meaningless motions. Zeke had asked him how she was doing, his father had not.

After lying down for a minute, he became restless and hopped back up and sat down at Max's desk. He looked around at the random wreckage of paperwork that had been left behind by a man who had little use for its demands. He knew his father hated drawing up plans, much more intent on spending his energy carrying them out as opposed to writing about them. J.C. opened and closed desk drawers and made a paper football with a piece of generic paper that held nothing but scribbles. He lined up his carefully folded and self-made toy and kicked it with his finger sending it skittering to the edge of the desk where it rested on a manila file folder. He picked it up the triangle from where it sat and and saw that the folder had his father's name on it. He wondered if it was about his employment at the hospital—like a report card. He decided to take a look, but what he found wasn't at all what he expected.

Max was lost in his own world as he neared his office and was only brought out of his thoughts by noise that seemed to be emanating from inside. He broke into a jog and saw a box crash to the floor as he walked through the doorway. Another box was kicked over and papers, pens, along with a stapler and other office sundries were scattered about the floor. He looked over to see his son shove a file holder to the floor. "Jason! What do you think you are doing!?"

"What am I doing?" His son yelled. "What am I doing? Well I'm not lying to my son. I'm not keeping a big secret from him!" J.C. said as he pushed another box over in his rage.

Max frantically looked over at the corner of the desk where he had left his medical file and saw that it now was home to scattered pencils an eraser, a staple remover and a letter opener, but no file. "I'm not lying," Max began, his voice gentle, hoping to deescalate the situation.

"Yes you are! You tell me that not telling things that are important is lying by—by—by something," J.C. said, giving up on the word he was trying to remember.

"Omission." Max filled in.

"Yeah, by omission. It's still a lie." J.C. thought back to Meredith and her bitterness with only knowing bits of her mothers journey towards death. "How could you not tell me?" He screamed, his eyes wet with tears.

"I wanted to know as much as I could before I told you."

"You are starting treatment. How much more can you know?"

"Honestly I wanted to tell you when it was over."

"Are you going to die?"

"One day. But not soon. Not from this."

"But you can't promise can you?"

"No. But I can promise you that I will do everything I can to be there for you, for Georgia, for Luna."

"I hate you," J.C. screamed. "I hate you for not telling me. For not thinking I wasn't important enough to tell."

"Of course you're important enough," Max tried as Dr. Sharpe walked in seemingly unaware of what was going on despite all of the yelling.

"Max, what is taking so long," she said just before she took in the scene before her. "Wow, clearly I need to pay more attention to my surroundings."

"Can you give us a minute?" Max asked.

"As much as I'd like to, no I can't Max. Just like you I have a schedule to adhere to. Did you find the file?" She asked as J.C., unsure what to do just stood there silently. "Oh, never mind, I believe I am standing on it." She took a step back and picked the folder up off of the floor and flipped through it. "Yep, just what I need. J.C. am I correct in assuming that this modification to your father's office was due to your discovery of his recent diagnosis?" She asked in calmly as if the disaster in front of her was an everyday event.

J.C. remained quiet and looked at Dr. Sharpe questioningly. "He didn't tell me he was sick."

"I see. He should have. But he didn't and you found out anyway didn't you?"

"I guess so."

"You can be mad at him, but honestly, he just wanted to protect you as parents so often do."

"Is he going to die?" J.C. asked her as Max stood between the two as a spectator.

"Not if I have anything to say about it. In fact we were about to get started with the very beginning of his treatment. How about you come with us and see just how we're going to battle this enemy? Sound good?" She asked as she extended her hand towards him.

"Okay," J.C. replied taking her hand, turning his back on the mess behind him, his mood having created a wave of emotion, had crested, crashed and receded as so often happens with children.

"You coming?" She asked as she looked back at Max. "I have the file, so no need to dwaddle. Keep up Dr. Goodwin."

Max looked at the disastrous state of his office, ready to say something to his son, but quickly realized that he and his doctor had already departed without him.

Once they had arrived back at the treatment room Helen had the younger Goodwin sit on a stool away from the treatment table. "Your dad will lay down here and today I am tattooing him with three dots."

"Why?" J.C. asked as Max struggled to lay still.

"So I know exactly where to aim my weapon in order to get the bad cells."

"And this will make him better?"

"Well, it might make him feel bad first, but that's because it's working."

"So he has to get sick to get better? How does that make sense?"

"Well that's a great question J.C. and I'm not sure what the best answer is for that."

"The right answer," J.C. said. "That's what my dad says. Will he still have the dots when he's all done? Dad you should get a tattoo that says survivor when you get better."

"I think that's a fantastic idea buddy," Max agreed, while both he and Helen were grateful that the boys original question about getting better was lost in his whirlwind of curiosity.

Once Max finished he hopped off the table, thanked his colleague, grabbed J.C. and left as quickly as he could. Max had done his best to come up with a conversation that would somehow fix what he had screwed up or at the very least appease his son to some degree. He looked up at a nearby clock, for the first time noticing the time.

"Why are you here in the middle of the afternoon? Why aren't you in school?"

"Parent, teacher conferences."

"Dammit, I knew I forgot something."

"Georgia knew you would. She has it covered."

"How about you put my office back together?"

"Is that a request or an order?"

"Oh, that's very much an order."

"Okay," J.C. sighed. "Sorry, I made a mess. It was like a piece inside me just snapped and I couldn't stop it from—from wrecking everything, cause that's how I felt—wrecked."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It took me a long time to get up the courage to tell Georgia and she had wanted to tell you, but I just wasn't ready."

"When would have been ready?" J.C. asked, blinking as he looked up at his father.

"Probably never."

 _Playlist-_

 _Paint It Black Ciara version while J.C. is talking with Iggy_

 _I Wanna Destroy by Ema when J.C. wrecks Max's office_


	5. The Heart Of It

**The Heart Of It**

The latest case had caused Max a very deep heartache. Knowing his sister's heart beat just feet from him caused an inner turmoil that Max had been ill equipped to handle. How could something that felt so good, almost invigorating also ravage his entire being. Life and its contradictory moments.

He had been explaining the situation to Georgia during the few moments he had actually left the hospital, when J.C. had walked in so he had pulled the boy into his lap and told him of the miracle of transplants and why this one was so very special.

"So a piece of Luna is inside your patient?" J.C. asked after listening to the story.

"It sure is. Beating away."

"But it's not working that good now, so she needs a new one?"

"Exactly."

"But what will happen to Luna's heart? Will they throw it away?" J.C. asked causing Georgia to give a concerned look.

"They will cremate it," Max explained.

"What's that?" 

"It means they will turn it into ashes."

"Burn it up?" J.C. asked.

"Because that is much better than being thrown away." Max said having no desire to explain the details of medical waste.

"What happens to the ashes? Can we have them?"

"Maybe we can," Max answered, hoping that the request would indeed come true.

And after a difficult roller coaster ride over the next few days the patient had had a happy ending to her case, surviving until she could get a new heart. Max had felt so blessed and rewarded in having a part in it. He was elated to tell his wife and son that death hadn't won that day and that Luna had played a part of extending a life for so many years. That a piece of his sister had done so much good.

On a crisp fall day they had driven to the park that had been a great playground for Max and Luna as children. Max telling J.C. all about how they had played there and learned to skipped stones.

"I want to skip stones. Will you show me how?" J.C. had asked, the excitement in his voice at having a day outside the city and with his father.

"You bet I will." Max assured as he looked at his son in the rear-view mirror as they neared the park.

J.C. immediately ran down to the water when they arrived and Max had to hurry to catch up with him. "Don't get too close to the edge."

"I know how to swim. Remember, Mom had me take lessons so I could swim on our trips."

"I know, but it's too cold to get wet. Just stay where you are and wait for Georgia and me."

J.C. sighed deeply but did what he was told, standing near the dock as he watched his father and step-mother make their way his direction as Max held on tightly to the small urn that contained Luna's heart.

Once everyone was assembled Max gently pulled the lid off and poured the ashes into the still water. They all stood solemnly and watched the ashes from Luna's heart swirl away from them. "I'm sorry I never got to meet her," J.C. said as he watched a piece of his family tree disappear from view.

"Me too pal, me too."

"I'll get things set up for lunch," Georgia offered, deciding that the guys needed a few minutes alone.

"Did you jump off of the dock when you were a kid?" J.C. asked as he peered into the water below.

"We both did, yes. We would pretend we were jumping off of a cliff or from a plane. But it's a little cold to do that today. Maybe we can come back and do that next summer," Max said as his throat seemed to constrict.

"That'd be great," J.C. exclaimed. Since he had found out about Max's diagnosis he had watched his father like a hawk, trailing behind him at the hospital looking for the first sign of frailty. But after days of Max continuing to appear normal J.C. had given up on his quest and things had returned to normal. Denial and routine were a powerful tool allowing you to believe everything was just fine even if it was all about to crash down around you.

"Why don't you grab some flat stones. Those are the best kind to skip," Max said as he touched his throat.

"You okay?" J.C. asked while looking at Max suspiciously.

"Just fine. I think I have a frog in my throat," he teased with a slight smile. "Go find some rocks, make sure they are flat and smooth."

"Okay," J.C. answered, but concern had touched the corners of eyes as he looked back at his father.

"Go on," Max encouraged.

J.C. turned and began to root around on the muddy shoreline. He spent several minutes hunting for just the perfect stones. Time with his father was precious and he wanted things to be perfect, which included learning how to skip a stone quickly and correctly. He could hear his father talking as he looked out into the water where his sister's ashes had disappeared. He waited until Max quit talking and took the five rocks he thought would pass muster back to his father on the dock. "Dad, Dad, Dad," he repeated as Max was trying to swallow and was preoccupied with the difficulty he was having. "Dad, are these good?" J.C. asked trying to get his father's attention.

Max turned and looked down at his son, his silence alarmed J.C. and then before the boy could say anything Max collapsed onto the dock.

"Dad!" J.C. screamed. "Georgia, help, help!" He screamed as he fell to his knees and began to push on his father's shoulder in an effort to revive him.

At first Georgia went into full panic mode. She ran to her husband's fallen body and began to scream for someone to help them, but then realized as she looked up at J.C. that she was the one that needed to act. She grabbed the phone that J.C. had handed her from Max's pocket and dialed 911, explaining as best she could what had happened, fortunately it wasn't much as she really had no idea what had befallen her husband. She had barely explained where they were when the call dropped, sending her further into panic.

With shaking hands she found Helen's number and hit the icon. Thankfully she answered on the second ring. The words gushed from her mouth with no control. She fought to keep it together as J.C. looked on, his eyes big and pleading. As Dr. Sharpe told her that she needed to cut a hole in Max's throat, bile rose up into her own.

"I don't have anything to cut him with," she said into the phone that she cradled against her head.

J.C. reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pocket knife. "I have my knife. You can have it," he offered, pulling open the blade. When Georgia protested over fears of infection J.C. attempted to soothe her. "I can only use it under his supervision and that means that I never use it. It's pretty clean."

A few minutes later with trembling hands she did her best to save her husbands life, with a small pocket knife and a plastic straw.

Neither Georgia or J.C. had been aware of the helicopter ride as they both focused on Max. The flight team had said there wasn't enough room for the two additional people, but when they realized Georgia was in no state to drive and J.C. looked as if he was going to collapse, they made the room.

The staff had been pulled into the fray from all over the hospital and were informed of his status and the cancer diagnosis while they waited for their boss to land and do their best to right what had gone so very wrong. They knew they could rise to the occasion, but in the end would it be enough? He had been down too long, definitely on the fringe of not coming back. Was it possible to fix what was too far gone, too broken? Despite having a degree and knowledge, they were only doctors, not miracle workers and would their collective efforts be enough to fix all that had gone wrong here?

After arriving at the treatment area and while Max was being attended to, J.C. slipped away from Georgia while she spoke to the doctors. It had already been hours and yet nothing had changed. They were both already exhausted in ways they never dreamed of. J.C. bypassed the bank of chairs and chose a spot on the floor and sat down, his back against the wall. He looked over and saw an anguished Georgia talking to Dr. Frome, for once the emotion and tears weren't being hidden from him, at this point that was an impossibility and a wasted effort. She hadn't seem to notice his absence yet and that was okay, he hadn't gone far. Thoughts swirled around in his head so fast, even he couldn't keep up with them. His father, his strong, ever-present, instrumental to everyone around him, father, could be dead at this very minute and there was nothing he could do about it. A few errant cells could take down a mountain that J.C. thought could never be moved.

Iggy was attempting to comfort Georgia when he looked over and saw J.C. and sprinted the short distance to where the boy was sitting. He couldn't make out exactly what the boy was saying, but he could clearly see that he had been rocking back and forth faster and faster and had begun to hit his head against the wall with each backward motion, faster and harder as the seconds ticked by. Looking at the expression on his face he could tell J.C. had no idea that he was doing it. He had slipped away, into a world all of his own. A world full of the unknown, of fear and from the look in his eyes: terror.

"J.C.," Iggy called out gently. But the boy continued rocking, causing the doctor to put his hand between J.C.'s skull and the wall cushioning the blow, but sending shooting pain into his hand and fingers. "Jason!" he stated more loudly and sternly. Finally he blinked and looked up.

"Oh my God. J.C. what are you doing?" Georgia asked. But he didn't seem to hear her. He looked over at Iggy and then off into the distance.

"He can't die, he can't die," J.C. mumbled over and over. "I can't go back to Africa. I can't go back. I can't go back."

"Why would you go back to Africa? You won't go back. I'm sure you won't go back of Africa. It'll be okay." Georgia said.

Iggy held onto J.C. in case he decided to toss his body backwards again, but now that he was alert and aware of his surroundings he seemed to have calmed down. At least concerning the physical aspect of this breakdown. He was about to say something when J.C. took hold of the conversation directing his emotions at his step-mother.

"Don't say that," he yelled. "Adults lie! They all lie. Dad lied about having cancer, and Mom, she said they wouldn't come back, but they did. They came back and killed everybody!"

Iggy looked over at Georgia, her eyes huge, the tears were too shocked to fall. "Hey kiddo, why don't we take a walk. We can find something to drink and maybe grab a snack." The psychiatrist said.

"I don't want to leave. I have to know if my dad is going to be okay."

"I'll stay here," Georgia assured as she knelt down and looked at J.C. in the eyes. "If anything changes I'll call you and Dr. Frome. You can come right back down here. I think taking a walk is a great idea. Maybe you could find a drink and snack to bring back for me. Okay?"

J.C. looked over at Georgia's pleading face and nodded. "Okay." He reluctantly agreed.

Iggy stuck his hand out to help J.C. up but the boy ignored it and got up by himself. "Let's go this way," Iggy pointed down the hall, away from all of the commotion that was brought about by the medical director coming in with severe respiratory distress.

For the first few minutes the duo remained quiet, the only sound was their feet moving across the newly buffed floors. Iggy was hoping that J.C. would start the conversation, but thus far the boy had remained quiet. He allowed the silence as the boy was undoubtedly attempting to digest the events of the day. Iggy was also trying to process the recent events. It had been a typical day until suddenly it wasn't. He discovered that he had become quite attached to his new boss and the thought of losing him so soon and unexpectedly was something he most certainly wasn't prepared for. If he could calm the man's son down and allow him to express his fears and give him a shoulder to lean on in this time of uncertainty it would be the least he could do. He owed the man so much already. Max had given him back the joy of helping people. Of allowing him to do things that had been frowned upon simply because they didn't fit into the box on some random form. He no longer was forced to watch kids fall through the ever-widening cracks because it wasn't specifically in their purview. Or watching everything he had worked so hard to stop, pick up speed and leave him behind. Max had given his tool box back and permission to use it. The man simply could not die. There were just too many people counting on him.

They walked until they found themselves in front of Max's office. J.C. stopped, opened the door and looked inside its darkened walls. "I can't be here. Not without him."

"Sure. I get it. Let's keep walking," Iggy said.

They kept weaving their way around the hallways and made their way to Iggy's office. "I have some juice and water in my mini fridge and some fruit I believe."

"Okay," J.C. answered quietly, his head hanging down, hands in his pockets.

Once they made their way to the psychiatrist's office he rummaged inside the small refrigerator and emerged with two small bottles of water and an orange. He pointed towards to the chair that sat on the other side of his desk. "Have a seat." J.C. looked over and made his way to the chair and sat down as if he had carried the weight of the world on his small frame. "How about we split the orange?" He asked as he made his way to the desk.

"Sure." J.C. agreed quietly, his voice somber

Iggy began peeling, happy to have something to do with his hands. He looked over at his young charge who looked exhausted and defeated. He wasn't sure how to begin. His own mind was still reeling with what had he had just discovered concerning Max. He was happy that he had already built a relationship with J.C. during previous sessions but it was still somewhat delicate and he wasn't sure at what angle he should try. But before he could start, J.C. began to talk. His eyes unfixed and looking at something off into the distance that only he could see.

"I've had haunted lullabies, for months now. I've felt that I've been walking down a road, alone, because nobody else can walk it with me. It's been a slow farewell. And now my dad is trying to beat me to the end of it."

Iggy froze. He wasn't exactly sure what he had just heard. Of course he listened to the words, but what was the kid saying, what did he mean by it? And where in the world did an eleven year old come up with such prose. He set the orange on his desk next to the water bottles and inhaled sharply, trying to compose himself.

"What do you mean a slow farewell? What does that mean to you?"

"I've been drifting away. I can feel it, my dad can feel it, Georgia refuses to see it. I think you refuse to see it too. My mom isn't even a part of it. I don't want to die, but I am, each day I lose a little bit more of who I was, who I am. I should have died, but my body refused to, but my soul made no such deal."

Iggy swallowed and opened up a bottle of water and took a big swig before he set it back down. "Wow. I'd give you an A+ if I was your English teacher."

"When you think about something all of the time, you can make it sound pretty. Don't give me too much credit, some of it is from a song that I heard once. It stuck with me."

"Sometimes lyrics will do that if you bother to listen to them." Iggy said, with a gentle smile.

"Helping Meredith, helped me forget, but then she left me when her mom was moved to hospice care, apparently I wasn't useful anymore, so I have to think about it again. If my dad dies—"

"He won't die. He's a very stubborn man. He has too many things left undone, and he won't go anywhere without them being accomplished."

J.C. looked at Iggy for the first time. "Can I have some of the orange?"

"Of course," Iggy said, dividing it and handing over half of it to J.C..

J.C. pulled off one section and almost delicately placed it in his mouth and chewed. Iggy did the same, keeping a close eye on the boy. He knew that J.C. had been in pain, carried it like a heavy burden everywhere he went, but at no time did he consider him suicidal. But now he wondered how fragile the boy was. Did seeing his father collapse and lay at the feet of death, stir something up in the boy or had it always been there?

"I want to go back down and check on him," J.C. said as he stood up.

"How about we finish the orange and have a drink and then we can head back?"

"I'm not going to kill myself. That's what you're afraid of isn't it? You're supposed to save me, protect me from myself."

"J.C.," he began, clearing his throat. "It's my job to help you deal with the toughest and most difficult parts of your life and if I can't do that, then I'm not succeeding, because you're not succeeding."

"Even if it hurts? Because it hurts all the time."

"We have to figure out a way to not make it hurt anymore. Or at the very least help you deal with the pain, how to manage it."

"You can do that?"

"I—we can try." J.C. stood up, still holding most of the orange in his hand. "Hey, why don't we finish eating first. Can I check out the back of your head where you hit it against the wall?"

J.C. quickly sat back down. "My head? I banged my head?" He asked, clearly confused.

Iggy slowly nodded his head. "Back in the Emergency Department. You were rocking back and forth and hit your head a few times. You don't remember?"

"I—I'm not sure." He said reaching his hand around and touching the back of his head, wincing as he did so. "On purpose? Was it an accident?"

"You were upset. You hit it a few times as you were sitting on the floor. Here let me take a look." The doctor made his way to the back of the boy and gently parted his hair. "I don't see any broken skin so that's good. I'm going to press against your skull a moment to check for any fractures, it'll hurt a bit." J.C. inhaled as he felt the pressure against his head. "Sorry," Iggy apologized. "Well, nothing feels broken, but an X-ray might be in order. But you already have a pretty big bump forming. You'll want to be careful the next several days, no leaning your head back against anything and you probably won't want to sleep on your back."

"Do I really need an X-ray? What will they do if there is a fracture?"

"Not much. Can't really put a cast on your head. But we would check you every few days, make sure you aren't acting weird or have headaches or nausea and vomiting."

"Can you just keep an eye on me?" J.C. asked looking over at the doctor as he made his way back around his desk.

"You bet I can. Do you feel okay now?"

"Other than the fact that my father might dead? Sure, I'm great."

"Do you remember what you said in the E.D.?" 

"In between banging my head against the wall?"

"Well—yes."

J.C. sighed. "Something about not wanting my dad to die."

"Yes, that's true. You said he couldn't die. Do you remember saying anything else?"

"Why do I feel like this a test I didn't study for?"

"There's no right or wrong answer. But the truth will help you not to hurt anymore, like we just discussed. I can't help you if I don't know what is hurting you. Just like a doctor that takes care of the body, if your leg hurts I don't want to spend time looking at your arm. Do you understand?"

"Yes," J.C. sighed. "I said something about my mother lying."

"Is this a new memory?"

"I'm not sure. I know that doesn't make any sense, but I honestly can't say."

"Tell me what you remember."

"Men, men with guns came to the camp—a day, maybe two before—well before what happened. I was playing with Claude. He was the only kid I had really seen besides babies since we had gotten there. He was ten. His mother spoke a little English and taught it to him, but usually he spoke Swahili so mostly we just played. My mom had given me a soccer ball and an air pump to take on the trip so we played a lot of soccer. Sometimes Frisbee—my dad gave me a Frisbee before I left." He said absentmindedly.

"Was he sick or hurt? Why did they come to the medical camp?" Iggy asked when J.C. drifted off.

"No, his mother had some kind of infection, a wound that wasn't healing. They would walk three miles from their village to get to the camp. His mother, Bernadette, was from Burkina Faso and spoke French along with her limited English and Swahili."

"And why his name was Claude."

"Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, sometimes his father came with them sometimes he didn't, it depended on if he had work for the day or not. A week before I had given Claude my soccer ball to take back home with him. I knew I could always get another one, but he had nothing. He would bring it back with him so we could play. The day before he told me that he wanted me to keep as it had almost been stolen from him. It was 'much coveted' in his village. That's what he told me, 'much coveted'."

"It was nice of you to give him the ball and nice of him to give it back to you."

"I think it would have bothered him more that he no longer had my gift than not having it for himself."

"So you were kicking the ball around."

"Yes. And then a truck pulled up and a bunch of men jumped out of the back and couple from the cab. They were yelling in Swahili and I didn't understand them, but Claude looked scared. He wouldn't or couldn't tell me what they were saying. Within five minutes they were gone.

"I asked my mom about them right then, but she told me she was busy and we'd talk about it later."

"Did you?"

"Yes. She didn't want to. But I nagged until she told me that had been looking for someone in particular and one of the doctor's through the interpreter convinced them that person wasn't there. She said they wouldn't be back, they were going to look somewhere else in a different direction."

"Did you believe her?"

J.C. finished the last section of his orange and looked over at Dr. Frome, taking his time with his answer. "No. I didn't."

"Why don't you want to go back to Africa?"

"More incoherent ramblings?"

"You said you couldn't go back to Africa."

"Kinda obvious isn't it Doc? Lies, murder etc. Doesn't give you a welcoming feeling. The question is if my dad died, would my mother come to me? Stay with me in the U.S. or would we end up in Asia or India or someplace just as remote only not Africa."

Iggy decided not to push it when J.C. stated once again that he wanted to head back to check on Max. He grabbed another bottle of water out of the fridge for Georgia and they headed back down the hall. "Bet you can't finish that bottle of water before we get back to your dad."

"Reverse psychology Doc? Am I that easy to fool?"

"Not at all. Clearly not at all. But still it would be great if you could finish it. You know, keep Georgia off my back—and your dad when he wakes up and asks if you ate and drank."

J.C. looked over and gave a weak and tired smile, but upended the bottle at his lips and drank. Once they were back in the chaos that surrounded the medical director's arrival, Iggy put his hand on J.C.'s shoulder, thinking of the words he had spoken earlier and his concern of the self-harm that had taken place. The boy looked up at the concerned psychiatrist. "I'm fine. I'm not going to hurt myself again."

"You know who says that?"

"People who are going to hurt themselves?"

"Often yes. I'm not going to lie to you Jason, I'm worried about you. I want you to call me anytime you need me. I work for your father and I refuse to disappoint him. I also work for you and I refuse to fail you."

"Sometimes it's not up to you." J.C. said as he looked over towards where his father was being treated.

"Jason, it's statements like that—"

"Dr. Frome," J.C. said putting his hand up. "I may hate what happened to me and what it's done to my life—but I love my dad."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I wouldn't take his only son away from him."

J.C. walked over in the direction of his father and sidled up next to Dr. Bloom who looked down at him with a sympathetic look. She bent down and said something to him, but Iggy was too far away to hear her. He knew Max would fight for his life, for his son, for his wife and unborn daughter. But if he knew that his fight might very well save not only his life but his son's, he might battle just a little bit harder. For if this struggle was lost it might not take just one life but two. If Max didn't survive, would J.C.?


	6. The Stars That Shine

The Stars That Shine

"We were going to stay at the park until it got dark. J.C. loves to stargaze and of course it's impossible in the city so he would bug Max to take him outside of the metro area. So Max promised him that tonight they would stare up into the night sky and pick out a bunch of stars and discuss the promises they held. I was never sure about that game they played, but they seemed to like it." Georgia told Iggy as he handed her the bottle of water that he had brought back from his office.

"Promises?" Iggy asked.

"Yeah. Each star held a promise and they would come up with one. Like, one held the promise of smiling at a stranger and then they would choose who would make that come true. It was sweet.

"When J.C. asked him why some stars were brighter than others Max told him, that some did shine brighter because perhaps they were closer to him, but all were important and the beauty of the sky was that it had a place for all of them."

"Wow, that's beautiful. No wonder J.C. likes to look at the stars with Max." Iggy said.

"I always thought that spending time in the middle of nowhere with his mother would make for the best star watching, but I guess not."

"Or maybe it did and J.C. wanted to have the same experience with his father. It sounded like they had beautiful moments together. It would make for a great reason to push for time together."

"I know Max always felt bad about working so much. But he never seemed to be able to say no. We split up when he took the job here at New Amsterdam without discussing it with me. I told him other doctor's lives weren't like his."

"He never spoke to you about it before he took the position?"

"No, he didn't. He knew I wouldn't be onboard. He's an amazing man, but he is still only a man. Dr. Frome," she said turning her head to look at him, "I can't live without him. J.C. couldn't bear the loss either. I would fall apart, but Luna's birth would demand me to move forward, but J.C.—I'm not sure if he can take another emotional blow. And I don't even know how the custody arrangement would land. What was he saying about his mother and not going back to Africa?"

"Well, it wasn't an official session, but I don't want to betray his trust. I want to have a strong bond with him. I'll need it no matter what happens here."

Georgia nodded, understanding the privacy. "Is Max going to make it?"

Iggy looked over at the bed that Max filled. He hadn't yet heard too many specifics about his condition, but what had trickled through to his ears had him scared to death. "Of course he is. He's got too much to live for to leave it now."

J.C. walked back over to Georgia and Iggy. "He's still asleep. Dr. Bloom said she didn't know when he would wake up. Somebody else is his doctor."

"I'm sure everyone is watching him closely, sweetie," Georgia replied.

"Dr. Frome, what's up with your pink t-shirt?" J.C. finally asked.

"Oh, this," he said running his hands down the shirt. "It was actually your father's idea. A walk out for the nurses. I was going to lead it."

"Why?" 

"Because they deserve better, they deserve more."

"Of what?"

"Everything."

"How come you're not leading them?"

"Because your dad is here," he said motioning towards Max.

"But that's why you should you lead it. Just because he's out of commission for now, doesn't mean you should stop everything. In fact you should do it even more. He'd like that better than you standing around here."

"You know what? You're right. In fact, if it's okay with Georgia would you like to help me? Represent your dad?"

"Can I?" J.C. asked looking at his step-mother.

"I'll keep an eye on him. We'll lead the troops, well the nursing troops." Iggy promised.

"Sure. Just stay with Dr. Frome." Georgia agreed believing that giving something for the boy to do was just what the doctor ordered—pun intended.

They stopped in the lounge on their way to the foyer and grabbed a small pink t-shirt for J.C. but despite the petite size, it still hung down well past his waist. But the boy represented his father well, fist pumping, feet marching. And it was clear to Iggy that the Goodwin gene was alive and well and hopefully would be for generations to come. It was a true testament to man who made so many positive impacts on so many people that it simply could not and would not be ignored.

As Max slumbered on and no ideas were coming forward on how to fix him Georgia began to think it might be best to take J.C. home for the night. After the march he had come back, clearly hoping he would find his father awake or at the very least moving that direction. The disappointment on his face at finding him in the very same condition as he had left him was obvious. The boys' face faltered and his eyes clouded up.

"I was hoping he'd be awake," he said quietly.

"Me too," Georgia agreed. "I'm not sure if he's going to wake up tonight. It's been a long day. Maybe we should go home and get some rest and come back first thing in the morning."

"NO!" J.C. yelled causing the nearby staff to jump. "I'm staying here. We can't leave him, we just can't," he said laying his head on the bed and taking Max's hand. He felt the rage rising up within him. He had felt the onslaught of these moments more and more lately. It seemed that recently it took very little to bring them on, but he found that he still was able to stuff them back down. Except for the time when he trashed his father's office at the discovery of the cancer diagnosis. But he figured it was only fair for him to act out after finding what had been withheld. But it would seem that it was taking less and less for him to want to lash out and just wreck everything around him. Right now he wanted to tear everything down and throw it on the floor. But he knew that wouldn't be good for his father or Georgia, but at the same time he wasn't sure how much he cared. He didn't know what was happening to him, why he had been having these desires, they had never happened before Africa so he figured it was his anger from what had happened to him trying to find a way out. He had to conquer this, get ahead of it. So maybe going home, where Max's computer was unguarded was just what he needed. His dad was going to need his help to get better and Max didn't need to worry about J.C. and his issues. So if he could just get his hands on that video he could find out what happened—that would have to help him get through his fears and frustrations—right? Once he knew what had happened he could stop searching and start healing and then help his dad. Nothing seemed to make more sense to him than this simple concept.

J.C. looked up when he felt Dr. Frome's hand on his shoulder, his eyes calm and looking down at him. "You okay kiddo?"

"Fine," he said. "I'm fine. Sorry."

"How about we tell him goodnight and that we'll see him later. If there is a change we can come right back." Georgia offered.

"Okay," J.C. sighed as he stood with Iggy while Georgia went over and talked to her unconscious husband and gave him a kiss goodnight. "What happened, what did I do?" She asked as his face was red where she had just placed her lips.

"Saved his life," Helen said as she went into action with this discovery, waving both Georgia and J.C. out of the way and began a treatment that would resolve his most recent issue.

Later when Max's eyelids fluttered open the first face he saw was that of his wife. The next thing he saw was a pink shirt lunging his way, hazel eyes wide and excited.

"I knew you'd be okay," J.C. said, grinning bigger than he had perhaps in his entire life.

"Oh thank God, Max. You're awake." Georgia chimed in.

"I am," he said clearing his throat. "And here everybody is." He said looking around at his family, both personal and work. "And I'm so happy to see all of you."

Max feared that his days of running a hospital, at least in the madness that he had been accustomed to, was over. Georgia had been right, he wasn't home enough and it just wasn't normal or acceptable. His family needed him at home and in their lives. But within minutes, despite his resignation hovering on his lips, suddenly he had the backing of both his wife and son along with his boss. There was no doubt that this was where he belonged and what his mission and life had become. Now, all that remained was to get healthy and figure out how to do it all, including dealing with a soon to be newborn. Piece of cake.

Even though Max was awake and clearly feeling better J.C. protested their impending departure. "It's okay buddy. Go home with Georgia, get some sleep and you can come by and see me tomorrow before school. Oh, and there's a surprise on your bed."

"There is?"

Max winked. "I put it there before we left this morning."

"Okay. But I get to see you before school and after school right?"

"Absolutely," Max said hugging his son.

Once back at the apartment the fatigue was setting in for both J.C. and Georgia. The initial adrenaline laced with concern and terror had ebbed just enough to allow weariness to gain a slight toehold. Georgia let out a mouth full of air and gave J.C. a weak smile. "I think I'm going to take a hot shower. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." J.C. assured, already glancing around the living room for his father's laptop. "Somebody will call us if anything happens right?"

"Yes they will. I'll tell you what, I'll leave my phone right here on the coffee table, and if anyone calls or texts you'll know."

"Can I answer it, if it's a phone call?"

Georgia thought about it for a moment. "Sure." She agreed realizing that nobody would give him any news that he couldn't handle. And they would definitely not announce death via a cell tower. "I won't be long."

"It's okay. Take your time. I'll be okay. And I'll let you know if there's any news."

Georgia smiled once again before she disappeared into the bathroom after grabbing a change of clothes. As soon as the door shut, J.C. began his search in earnest, looking in all the common areas before he made his way into the master bedroom. He looked at the bed, which had been hastily made that morning, the blankets still a bit rumpled, pillows askew and the newspaper laying on Max's side. And there on the nightstand sat the laptop.

J.C. sat down on the bed and reached out and pulled the laptop onto the mattress beside him as he heard the shower turn on. He flipped up the lid as he began to absentmindedly chew on his bottom lip. There was a good chance that his dad might have left the programs open, expecting to be home tonight, but alas the screen demanded the very thing that J.C. didn't have; a password.

As he continued to hear the water drown Georgia's tired muscles and near mental collapse, J.C. continued to focus on what was in front of him. He filled in the demanding box with his name, his initials, his birthday, Luna's name, due date, their address, he even looked at the calendar hanging in the other room and put in the couple's wedding anniversary. But nothing he tried gave him any advance. He sat, defeated, looking at the very same screen he had started with. The shower stopped and J.C. knew his time was short. He was out of time to watch the video now—if his dad even had it, but he was certain that he did. He had to. Despite the horror it held, it also possessed the knowledge that might hold the key to help J.C. heal. There was no way his dad didn't have it with him at all times. But if he could just figure out the password, it would mean easy access whenever there was another chance, which would most likely be sooner than later. But what if his dad never came home? What would he do then? He couldn't even begin to imagine. His breathing became rapid, he suddenly felt hot and shaky. He could hear his name being called—suddenly he was surrounded by heat, dirt and blazing blue skies and his mother was calling out to him—her voice shaky and tearful, driven by uncertainty. She screamed for him, but he couldn't reach her, she was disappearing right in front of him—there was a man—he had stepped in-between them, a man with a smile, J.C. could no longer see her. Vehicle doors slammed, an engine revved, dirt surrounded him like clouds in the sky. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, all he could do was look up at a man whose smile had nothing to do with goodness and everything to do with evil.

"J.C., can you bring me a towel. I forgot to put new ones in the bathroom after I pulled the others out for the laundry. J.C., J.C. honey, can you hear me?" Georgia called, finally snapping J.C. from his vivid memory. And it had been a memory, a real memory from that day. The second one today. He recalled Dr. Mayfield telling that sometimes stressful events can trigger memories. His father's collapse must have caused him to remember some of the events from that day and the days before. He sat and tried to focus and bring more to the forefront of him mind, but he simply couldn't conjure them.

"J.C. can you hear me?" Georgia called out again.

"Um, yeah, sorry. I'm coming," he said as he set the laptop back where he had gotten it and headed towards the linen closet. He opened the bathroom door just enough to get his arm with towel through and dropped it on the floor.

"Hey, why don't you jump in when I'm done, that way we can get to the hospital that much sooner tomorrow. I'll make you a snack while you're in the shower," she said from behind the closed door.

"I ate an orange at the hospital."

"Well, I bet a peanut butter sandwich would help you fall asleep. And you would be able to tell your dad you ate something and that would make him really happy."

"Okay," J.C. sighed as Georgia opened the door, still towel drying her hair, wearing soft flannel pajamas.

"I'll find you some clothes and a towel." She said as she stepped aside to let J.C. into the bathroom. She had gotten the laundry done the day before but nothing had found its way from the basket to it's official resting place. She struggled to think of what life would be like in a few months when a newborn was thrown into the mix.

She had the sandwich was ready and on a plate when a wet-headed J.C. came out of the bathroom. "I know I'm happy that he's awake but I'm still really scared because he's still sick," he said as he sat down and pulled the crusts off his sandwich.

"Me too," Georgia said as she sat down next him with her own cup of tea and snack. "But he has the best care."

"How come Dr. Bloom didn't take care of him?"

"I think she had had a really long shift and wanted someone a little fresher to take it on. But she was there and so was everyone else and they all took great care of him. And they will continue to take care of him."

"But will he take care of himself?"

"I think he will." She said as J.C. picked at his food. "Finish up and we'll see what your surprise is."

"Oh yeah!" J.C. said standing up.

"No way young man. You have to finish it all before you can get up." She hoped that he would abide by her words. With Max gone so often it often fell to her to discipline J.C. which was rarely an issue as he was an easy going and generally an obedient child. That and the promise that if he gave Georgia a hard time Max would deal with him and it wouldn't be fun. But that rarely happened, though the last time it had, she ended up with a sparkling kitchen as his punishment had been to clean it from top to bottom and the kid was nothing if not thorough.

But her words hit home as J.C. shoved the remnants of his sandwich into his mouth and drained the water from his glass and stood up. "Can I go see now?"

"Sure," she said with slight smile. "Jace don't run," she reminded him as he took off jogging the short strides to his room.

He flipped on his light and looked around, his eyes finally settling on the bed where a large poster sat, spread out along with a card.

"What is it?" Georgia asked having caught up.

"It's a poster with stars on it," J.C. said as he tilted his head to get a different view.

"That one up there is circled and has your name on it," she observed. "What does the card say?"

"It's from the star registry. It says that star is named Jason after me!" He said excitedly. "I have my own star."

"You sure do. How cool is that?" Georgia said looking at the information. Max had mentioned doing something special for J.C. before the baby came to remind him how he would always have a place in the family despite the arrival of a new sibling. "What does the card say?"

J.C. picked up the accompanying card and smiled as he read it. "It says that, 'You are the most beautiful and brightest star in my sky. Always let your light shine. Love Dad.'"

"That's beautiful. We can hang it up tonight if you want to."

"Yes please," J.C. agreed.

"Okay. You go brush your teeth I'll find the tape."

Ten minutes later the poster was hanging over J.C.'s bed as the boy sat and looked at it. "I can't wait to tell him where I put it." Georgia smiled at the boys excitement. "What if he doesn't get better even with the chemo?"

"He will. He never gives up."

"But he might not. He could have died today. What if it had happened overnight? What if he had stopped breathing then?" 

"But it didn't and I would have woke up even if it had. Now he'll never be alone and he'll get stronger."

"But the treatment is supposed to make him sick, sicker than he is now and he already almost died."

"We have to have faith that he is strong enough and stubborn enough to get through this We also have faith in the doctors that they will help him on his journey. We have to stay strong for him and for us. We have to stick together."

"Okay," J.C. whispered. "He can't leave us. I won't let him."

"Close your eyes and pretend you're in the stars with your dad tonight, just the two of you. And when you land in the morning you can tell him about the adventures you had together."

"Like a dream?" J.C. asked.

"You're own personal dream and you can share it tomorrow."

"Okay. Because in my dreams he won't leave me."

 _ **Play list:**_

 _ **Don't Fade On Me – Tom Petty as J.C. sits with Max**_

 _ **Alone In The Dark – Will Cookson when J.C. is going to bed looking at his new star poster while he thinks of Max**_


	7. I Am Not Me

I Am Not Me

The days slipped past each other, always in a rush as to what was next. Routines churned and ground their way from dawn to dusk and beyond. Lauren wasn't even sure what day it was anymore as nothing seemed to make much sense. And now here was J.C. Goodwin looking for answers that neither the hospital or the universe held.

"I know that you weren't his doctor but how bad was he?" He asked as his eye lashes fluttered while he looked up at her in hopes of some kind of proclamation that would put his mind at ease. But unfortunately it was the last thing that she could offer.

"Pretty bad," she replied seeing no point in lying.

"But he made it. But will he make it now? I heard his cancer is really bad. I know you aren't a cancer doctor—what are they called?"

"Oncologist. Dr. Sharpe is the best. She'll take great care of him. Plus your dad is a fighter."

"But he's pretty sick isn't he?"

"Yes he is." she said wrapping her fingers around her bottle of pills in her pocket. The pills rattled around as she ensured they were still in there.

"I know you don't take ibuprofen." He said suddenly, perhaps having heard the pills roll around in their container.

"What?" She asked, clearly alarmed wondering if Helen had told him something despite knowing that was an impossibility. Had he overheard something?

"In your pill bottle you carry everywhere. First of all you wouldn't need to carry ibuprofen around with you everywhere you go and secondly, well—secondly it's Adderall."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I had a headache one night and it was totally crazy around here and you had left them on a table and Casey took one and set them back down so I was going to help myself."

"You took one?"

J.C. looked over, his face serene. "No, not once I saw what they were."

"And how do you know what they are?"

"Some of my classmates take them. Sometimes their siblings and parents steal them so they carry the bottle around and stash it in their lockers."

"Shouldn't a nurse be distributing them?"

"If there were enough nurse's to possibly have the time to do it—sure. But there aren't, not even close. Kids are better off self-medicating."

"Jesus, what the hell has happened to this world," she said before she caught herself as she looked over at J.C. and his scars. "I'm sorry."

"For what? Pondering reality?"

"Well, yeah. Look I'm sorry that I didn't take care of your dad when he came in that day."

"It's okay. Thank you for realizing that you couldn't. Oh, and not ratting me out when you see me in the E.D. when I'm not supposed to be here."

She smiled. "You got it dude."

Lauren watched the boy leave as the smile continued to sit on her lips, the one bright moment that she had had in days. She should have known that he knew of her awareness of his visits to the Emergency Department. He was so good at fading in the background and staying quiet that she was certain he knew much more, was aware of much more and was prepared to contribute so much more than anyone would ever give him credit for.

She had started seeing him in the E.D. shortly after Max had let her know that the boy wasn't allowed to be in that department. He said that he explained to his son that there was too much going on and along with its unpredictable nature, it was absolutely no place for him to be. He worried about inmates coming in shackled and accompanied, but their eyes often darting and looking for someone to intimidate. He worried about highly contagious individuals coughing and sneezing on everything nearby. Addicts dropped off with their, vomit stained clothing and baggage for all to see. Even the homeless who would come in out of the weather would occasionally act out or have an episode that no child should see. Lauren wholeheartedly agreed with all of Max's concerns and ten minutes later caught a fleeting glance as the boy turned a corner and disappeared. Two nights later, he was back, but always stayed out of the way—floating around as if he wasn't tethered to anything. She would catch just a flicker out of the corner of her eye, unsure if she had actually seen him or not—it was as if he was a mirage.

He was never in the way or inappropriate. He would simply observe—but not in a creepy way, but like he was trying to unlock the puzzle that was humanity so that one day later in life it would help in his quest to save the world.

She was very concerned for the next generation and, so it appeared, was J.C. and he spent his time now trying to figure out the future. He was born of two angels who spread their wings very differently. But those wings cared for everything that they could shelter underneath of them and it would most definitely seem, even at this tender age, the apple had indeed not fallen far from the tree—either tree.

Lauren could see it in his eyes, the emotions he wore on his face, his actions, reserved as they were, he was going to make a difference in the world one day. She felt as if he was like a vibration that hopefully would be felt by many in his lifetime. She was aware that there had been some kind of trauma in his recent past and that the scars he wore were like bookmarks of pages he would rather forget, but was forced to constantly revisit. But she also knew that so often the children that the world leaves broken, are the ones that come back to save it.

J.C. pulled out his phone and looked at it only to be disappointed to see that he had felt a phantom vibration. He had hoped it was a message from Meredith. She had texted him several days ago and told him her mother had died. He immediately answered pouring out condolences and sad emoji's. When she didn't answer he texted that his father had been diagnosed with cancer and it was pretty bad. But she still hadn't gotten back with him. Her attendance at school had been sketchy since her mother had moved to hospice. But even when she was there she hardly glanced his way. It had been as if they had never had their brief but whirlwind relationship at the hospital. She sat at her popular girl table and pretended that things were normal and if they were normal then she had never needed J.C. to begin with. He couldn't say he didn't expect her actions but it was still painful all the same. So one evening while he was waiting for Max's treatment to finish up he was thrilled to hear that familiar voice. But it ended up coming at a price.

J.C. looked over at the small lump of humanity that sat on the hard plastic chairs that had been randomly place in a quiet section of the hallway. She looked lost, exhausted. Her clothes appeared to be in the same shape she was, faded and frayed. Her hair was knotted, yet hung limply around her face. She had been sitting there for a while now. He had seen her earlier when had passed through an hour ago as he killed time. He had told his father he would accompany him home every night after treatment and surprisingly enough Max had agreed. J.C. figured it was simply because he didn't have the energy to argue. But now, as he stood off to the side trying to gain the courage to say hello and perhaps extend an offer of a hot drink, he heard his name being called and looked up to see Meredith coming his way.

"Hey kid. Long time no see," she said.

J.C. looked over at her, his eyes questioning, the inhabitant on the bench immediately forgotten. "Why are you here?" He asked her.

"My dad is paying some of the bills or something like that. He had some issues and wasn't getting anywhere on the phone so we came in so he could talk to someone about them."

"I'm sorry about your mom," he offered again.

"Thanks. I cried a lot. But at least my dad doesn't have to run around like crazy anymore. And she's not in pain like she was. But he's really sad. I hear him crying a lot, but he doesn't think I know. The lies never end."

"He's just trying to protect you." J.C. said.

She shrugged. "Maybe." She looked over her shoulder to where J.C. had been looking earlier. "What's she doing here?"

"Do you know her?"

"No, but I bet her name would be Raggedy Ann, because—well because she's raggedy." Meredith said looking at the petite woman in disdain.

J.C. blinked hard as a fraction of a memory from Uganda hit him hard as if it had physically slammed into him. He saw a face—a face in agony. He shook his head and tried to focus on what was happening in front of him. The world swam for a moment as he tried to push it aside. He had no idea what had caused this interruption in his thought process, but it wasn't the first time it had had happened this week. He was seeing glimpses into his time in Uganda, but not any particular order and nothing that he could string together to make any kind of sense. The disjointed memories didn't lend themselves into anything that served him or his desire to know what had happened, they merely distracted and frustrated him.

As he shook off the most recent worthless piece of his confusing puzzle, he looked across the hall at the individual in front of him thinking she reminded him of someone familiar, he just had no idea who. Had he seen her here at New Amsterdam before, or perhaps at the China Town clinic. He looked back at her, somewhat ashamed that he hadn't approached her earlier, he then opened his mouth, but he had no idea what he might say. Was he going to defend her, go along with Meredith or try and change the subject. It didn't really matter who she was or whether he knew her or not, he needed to step up and help her. But in the end he said nothing and Meredith crossed the hall and walked up to her.

"Hey Raggedy Ann, looking especially raggedy today aren't we. When's the last time you washed those clothes or took a bath or even combed your hair. I think those clothes were in the bargain bin at the thrift store. You know life is bad when you have to buy clearance in a secondhand shop. Huh J.C.?" She asked turning back to look at him. "Where do you think she does take a bath in the East river?"

Of course J.C. had been raised never to torment or tease another human being in any way, shape or form. He had always been taught to be compassionate and sympathetic by both of his parents, who constantly put what they preached into practice. So this offering was a forbidden fruit of the highest order. He had never been in this position before and seemed to be frozen and uncertain as to what he might do. But Meredith was looking at him, waiting for him to do something. She tilted her head and gave him a small smile and that's all it took.

"No, the sewer," he answered. "The stinky sewer. And she washes her clothes there too."

"Yeah," Meredith added gleefully. "That's a good one."

J.C. bit his lower lip as he smiled at this trip to the unknown. He wasn't quite sure how he felt. He looked over at Meredith who continued to grin at him, taking him back to the days when they spent hours together and he had thought a bond had formed. But then he looked back at their victim who was looking down at her worn out shoes and his heart fell. He wanted to tell Meredith that they needed to stop and apologize. He wanted to tell her this was wrong and hurtful. But he just couldn't seem to make the words come out.

"She gets her haircut at that place where the homeless go sometimes. They give her the scissors and let her do it herself," Meredith continued, looking to J.C. to add to her comments.

"They just cut because she has lice," he said, despite everything in his being telling him not to. But before he could take another breath he felt a hand on his bicep and he was being whisked down the hallway. He looked over to see his father holding his arm. He had no idea where the man had come from but it was clear that he had heard what had been said, his inner strength guiding his worn out body.

Once they were far enough away for a private conversation Max pushed his son against the wall and leaned in taking up all the space between them. "What do you think you're doing?" J.C. opened up his mouth to speak but nothing came out. "Oh, now you have nothing to say. You were not raised to act like this. I have never been so disappointed in your behavior." Max stated, looking at his son who twisted his head to look down the hallway towards the girls. He saw Meredith retreating down the hall, walking quickly, not looking back.

"Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you," Max ordered. But J.C. found it very difficult to face his father. "You look at me not her," Max said as he followed his son's gaze. Finally Max grabbed J.C.'s chin with his fingers and steered it back his direction. "You're having a hard time looking at me because you know what you did was wrong."

J.C. struggled as he inhaled, making the effort sound choppy and disjointed. His eyes were clear but held something Max wasn't sure he had ever seen before. "Listen to me, you are going to go over there and apologize and then you and I are going to have a long talk. Am I clear?"

Max released his son who remained against the wall and didn't move. "If I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it." But J.C. still stood immobile. Max sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He finally pulled out the last Dad phrase he knew: "I'm not going to tell you again."

J.C. finally shuffled forward, which greatly relieved Max as he had no idea what he was going to do next. J.C. had never really pushed the envelope like this before and it was new territory for them both. The boy looked down the hallway and back at Max and whispered. "She's gone."

Max followed his son's gaze and realized that at some point in their private discussion the girl had gotten up and left. "Well that's unfortunate. Her only interaction with you was one of cruelty. And now you can't even make an attempt to fix it."

J.C. looked down at the floor but then suddenly his head shot back up. "I think she goes to my school."

"Who Meredith?" Max asked, confused.

"I'm sorry Dad." J.C. said quietly.

"I'm not the one you should apologize to."

"I'll find her and tell her I'm sorry. I swear I will."

"You can try and if you find her you most certainly will apologize. I'm going to call Georgia to come pick you up. I want you in your room, where you can clean it up and when that's finished I want you in bed ," he said pulling out his phone and making the quick call.

"Why can't I stay here?" J.C. asked when Max hung up.

"Because it's a privilege to be here and you just lost that privilege."

"For how long?"

"Until I decide that you have earned the right to come back." Max said as he walked away. "Come on, let's get your stuff. You can wait by E.D. entrance." J.C. jogged to catch up causing Max to pause his steps and turn towards his son, unsure where his sudden burst of energy had come from. "Did you think you were being cool?"

J.C. shrugged. "I—I don't even know."

"You want to know what's cool? This is what's cool: Apologizing when you're wrong, being nice to strangers, listening without interrupting, admitting when you're wrong, learning and using other people's names, being a gentleman, the gentleman that I thought I was raising."

"I really am sorry Dad." J.C. said.

"So am I son, so am I."

They were both standing at the E.D. entrance when the cab pulled up in front of the hospital and Georgia stepped out of the backseat. "What's going on?" She asked as she stepped towards Max and J.C.. "I'll fill you when I get home, unless J.C. wants to explain it."

"Okay," she said looking down at her step-son. "How much longer do you think you'll be?"

"An hour, hour and a half."

"Okay. Are you sure you'll make it? You look tired."

"I'll be fine, just some paperwork to catch up on."

"Okay, we'll see you then," she said.

"J.C. won't, because he's going to be in bed. Make sure you do what I told you. I would not disobey me if I were you." Max said just before he turned and went back into the hospital walking near the wall in case he needed its support.

Georgia looked down at her step-son and then back where her husband had just departed. With concern in her eyes as she nodded and led J.C. towards the cab.

Much later that night as Max arrived home he found Georgia on the couch, flipping through a magazine. "So much for an hour and a half."

"I know. I'm sorry. Things never seem to be accomplished at the rate I want them to. Plus I move a bit slower these days. Did J.C. do what I told him to?" He asked as he looked towards the boys bedroom door.

"If you told him to come home and clean his room and then go to bed, then yes he did. He even came out for a quick snack and sat down and told me what happened. Max, he feels really bad about what happened."

"It's not about what happened, it's about what he did."

"I know but—"

"But nothing, that is not how I raised him, how Karen raised him—how you raised him."

"No, it's not. But Max, he's a kid, kids make mistakes. He realizes that he made a big one. He's afraid that you hate him and will never forgive him."

"You think I was too hard on him?" Max asked, his eyes exhausted and impatient.

"I just know that he was a wreck tonight. You're approval means everything to him." 

"And right now he doesn't have it because he doesn't deserve it. And if I can ram this lesson home by being a little harsh then so be it. I'm his father not his friend."

"Why can't you be both Max? I understand that he needs to be punished and understand his behavior isn't acceptable, but maybe you can talk to him tomorrow—let him know that despite the fact that you didn't love what he did, you still love him. I really think he needs to hear that from you. He's in a vulnerable place right now, your cancer treatments, not knowing when he'll see his mother again, our family dynamic changing," she said rubbing her belly. Max blew out a mouthful of air as he looked back at Georgia. "I know you have a lot on your plate, but don't let him slip away from you."

 _ **Song:**_

 _ **Into Dusty by Mazzy Star at the end of the chapter as Max contemplates what he should do with J.C.**_


	8. I Have Tuna

I Have Tuna

The next day J.C. stepped into his math class, thinking of the night before and his need to apologize to humanity and help someone, anyone. He owed the world, he owed karma, and he sure as hell owed that poor soul from last night. He needed to balance his badness with goodness. The bottom line was; he needed the distraction. He stood and looked at the desk where he was pretty sure a friendless girl sat, an outcast in a sea of many who fought against that very label. But she had splashed down in the middle of it, with or without her permission she was adrift in a position most didn't handle well. The person from last night reminded him so much of her. Someone lost and alone. But the desk was still empty as he stood by the door, being pushed aside by his classmates who bumped by him in their effort to find their seats. "Move Goodwin, sheesh," Mark said as tried to slide past the boy.

"Hey do you know the girls name that sits there," J.C. asked as he pointed towards the front row.

"Does anybody sit there," Leslie Drummond said as she sat down next the the empty spot, already looking tired of having to be in class.

"Do you know if she's here today?" J.C. asked, his voice clearly reflecting his frustration.

"Why would I know? Seriously dude, just go sit down." She replied, her voice a mix of boredom and disgust.

Just as the bell rang, he saw her come in and sit down. J.C. stepped over to her desk, nearly dropping his books. "Hey, can I talk to you?" She looked up at him, but remained silent.

"Mr. Goodwin, find your seat." Mr. Keller stated. But J.C. couldn't move, not until he talked to her. "J.C. now, please."

J.C. realized he had no other option but to go sit down. He hung his head and made his way back to his seat feeling disappointed and frustrated. He had to talk to her, there was no way he could go home without trying to befriend her. He would just have to grab her after class.

But that proved easier said than done. Once the bell rang signaling the end of the period it took him much too long to make his way to the door from his desk in the back and she was long gone. He was shoved around in the hall as he strained his neck to see where she had gone. He finally admitted defeat and headed to his locker to get his lunch.

Five minutes later he stood in the cafeteria and tried to decide where to sit. He always brought his own lunch, claiming he didn't want to waste his time waiting in line for a crappy and unidentifiable food. But in reality he just didn't really want to invest time in something he wasn't going to eat anyway. Georgia always made him a nutritious lunch that he claimed to love, but in reality he didn't love much of anything anymore. He headed towards the far wall where the tables filled up last and was nearly there when he spotted her, the nameless, camouflaged girl, that nobody ever seemed to notice. She was the only one at the end of the table so he sat down across from her.

"You probably don't know me." He began as she studied her sandwich. "I wanted to say hi. I'm sorry that I've never introduced myself to you before," he began, "and I'm really sorry that I've ignored you."

"You must have gotten in trouble or something and your punishment is to make a new friend from a throwaway kid. Sorry, but not interested in your charity," she said, still staring at her sandwich.

"Not really," J.C. said, thinking that there was a motive behind his actions, but not exactly in the way she was thinking or maybe it was exactly in the way she was thinking. Was it a completely selfish act if someone else benefited he wondered.

"Then you lost a dare."

"No I didn't. Look, can't I just be a nice guy who is looking for a new friend?"

"Really? You are?" She asked suspiciously. "Usually I'm invisible, actually I'm always invisible. And I was until math class. You're the only one who has ever talked to me. Noticed me. I know that your Meredith's friend," she said looking over towards the table where the popular girls sat. "I saw that she doesn't sit with you anymore. Her mom is dead and she doesn't need you to hang out with at the hospital."

"You know about that? About her mom? And that I hang out at the hospital?"

"Of course I do. You hear all kinds of things when you're invisible. Like her friends are tired of her being sad. And that your dad is a cute, hot doctor that runs the hospital where you spend lots of time."

"Her mother just died," J.C. defended. "My dad's hot?" He questioned as he involuntarily shuddered at the thought.

"Yeah and they don't care. They're bitches just like her."

"My name is J.C., what's you're name?" He asked changing the subject.

"Like you care," she answered picking up her food.

J.C. looked at her as she studied the white bread painted in peanut butter and jelly that was in front of her. "I have tuna," he offered holding up his lunch. "And a cookie."

"Aren't you hungry?" She asked as she eyed the offering.

"I'm not a big eater. Is that what you eat every day?" He asked as he looked at the sandwich, apple and milk. He recognized it as the lunch the school was forced to give if there was no money in the student's account or the paperwork for free lunches hadn't been submitted. Didn't anybody care about this girl?

"Pretty much," she said as J.C. slid the food across the table.

"Can't you get a better lunch?"

"Sorry, but my daddy isn't a rich doctor."

"We're not rich," J.C. replied. "What's your name?"

"What's J.C. stand for?" She rebutted.

"Jason Christopher."

"Hmmm, I'm going to call you Chris, no, that'd be too confusing. I'll call you Jay, mmm, no Jason. You look like a Jason. My name is Paulie."

"Like the boys name?"

"Kind of, it's short for Paulette. I hate it."

J.C. looked across the cafeteria and saw Meredith sitting with her friends looking back at him with a confused expression. He wanted to shrug, but knew if he did Paulie would probably call him out on it and any rapport he had just built up would be gone. She followed his gaze and squinted into the distance. "Go sit with her," she said as she gathered up her new lunch and stood up.

"I'm staying with you. I'm not going anywhere," he tried. "I'll win you back," he cried out as she began to walk away.

"You never had to me to begin with." She replied disappearing into the mass of students.

He sat and watched her walk away. It was as if she was a younger version of the homeless individual from last night. Her clothes had seen better days, her hair was unwashed, her shoes worn, her complexion was so pale that even her freckles struggled to stand out. In short, she looked like life had run her over.

That afternoon as the final bell released the students J.C. hopped down the front steps. He had earned the right to walk the few blocks home. But if he was even a minute late Georgia was calling him to check where he was. He loved the hum of city, the blaring of car horns that screamed out the impatience of their drivers, the mass of people always on the move, the shouts of pedestrians, the tall buildings peering down. You would think it would be overwhelming to him after spending so much time in remote places, but it was just the opposite, perhaps because it was just the opposite of the void and vacancy he had so often visited. The walk home seemed to somehow soothe him despite its raucous greeting. But as he bounded down the stairs this day he looked over and saw his father standing at the bottom of them. He initially smiled but quickly lost his joy as he realized his father had never done this before and something must be wrong.

"Is Georgia okay? Luna? Did she have the baby?" He asked hurriedly as he reached his father.

"They're both fine. I thought we could take a walk together, maybe get an after school snack."

"Is your cancer worse? Why aren't you at the hospital?"

"No. You're up to date on everything. And, everything is under control there for the moment, so I could take a polite suggestion from my doctor and take a break. I thought I'd spend it with you."

J.C. looked over at his father unsure if what he had heard was the truth, but he wasn't about to let this unexpected midday gathering get away from him. In fact he had some good news to share with him. "I made a new friend today." J.C. said quickly.

"Well, you must be hungry then. Tell me all about it." Max said, eager to connect with his son.

The two walked slowly down the block, being constantly passed by students, among others in their rush to go wherever it was they were going. After a few minutes, Max stopped in front of a small diner. "How about a milkshake?"

"I'm game if you are, but dairy probably isn't the best thing if you have an upset stomach." Max looked at him somewhat surprised. "What? Mom teaches me stuff too."

Max nodded. "They have soy milk here and for some reason a vanilla shake sounds really good. How about we split some french fries too?"

"Onion rings," J.C. said not really in the mood for sharing fries and reminding him of that day with Meredith, back when she had him convinced that he mattered in her life.

"Sound fine to me." They grabbed a booth and Max ordered. "So tell me about your new friend."

J.C. shrugged. "I introduced myself and sat with her at lunch."

"Good for you. Tell me all about her."

"We didn't talk about much. She said she's going to call me Jason instead of J.C."

"What's her name?"

"Paulie. It's short for Paulette. Maybe if I help her and be her friend then it will somehow help that person from last night."

"If you admit to your poor behavior then it will help everyone around you. You made progress. Now you can build on that progress. "

"I'll try."

"I'm sure you will."

"Are you still mad at me?" J.C. asked.

"Not so much mad as upset—disappointed. You were raised to respect the rules, to respect everyone. You were not raised to treat people like you did last night. I know that peer pressure is hard, but I expected more from you. I expected you to do the right thing."

"Sorry," J.C. said as the milkshakes and onion rings were set down on the table.

"Does Meredith usually act that way?" Max asked before he took a sip of his drink.

"I actually don't really know. We only really hung out at the hospital. She never paid much attention to me at school. We did sit together at lunch sometimes though."

"Does she sit with you regularly now?"

"No. She is with her friends. They're all popular. Her mother died, it's been hard for her."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, me too. I don't want you to die."

Max smiled as he sipped a little more from his drink, but noticed he wasn't making much headway with the beverage. "Believe me I don't want to die either."

"Has Dr. Frome talked to you?"

"About you? He said you remembered something else about that day. But nothing definitive. He keeps what you talk about between the two of you."

J.C. nodded, happy that his secrets were still safe. "How much trouble am I in?"

"For your behavior last night?" J.C. nodded as Max sighed. "Well I want you to try and do better. Be a good example for Meredith."

"I already did something good today."

"I know you did. But remember when you broke that plate a couple of weeks ago?" J.C. nodded that he did. "Well, we picked up the pieces and we glued them all back together, but you could still see the cracks, the damage that had happened."

"It was an accident."

"I know it was. But it was broken and we tried to fix it, but the plate wasn't the same as before was it?" Max asked.

"I guess not. I said I was sorry." J.C. said looking down at the tabletop. Two weeks ago he had been bouncing his soccer ball inside the apartment despite Max telling him to stop and as he tried to juggle it with his feet it bounced up and knocked a decorative plate off of a nearby shelf. Georgia had taken it better than Max despite the fact it had been hers. They guys tried to glue the fractured pieces back together but the seams were quite apparent.

"Yes, you apologized and felt bad, but even after that, the damage remained. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"That even if you apologize, the words can never be completely erased."

"Exactly! That's why what you say matters, what you do matters, make it so an apology isn't necessary."

"I didn't mean it. I really didn't."

"Then I'm sure it will never happen again."

"It won't. I promise."

"Well maybe you can be a great friend to Paulie. I bet you'll get a much better feeling by helping her than going along with someone who just wanted to lash out. Even in her pain and loss, Meredith shouldn't want to hurt someone else."

"I know," J.C. said as he nibbled at an onion ring as Max watched, concerned with his lack of progress. He was still very preoccupied about his son's eating habits and had made more than one mention of it lately. But he feared the more he spoke to him about it, the more J.C. pushed back and the less he ate.

"Meredith's abandoning you kind of hurt didn't it?" Max asked gently.

"I guess. I thought—well I don't know what I thought. I felt so bad saying those things last night but I just kept doing it."

"You're a good kid and I'll know you'll make this right. Tell me about the importance of what you do?"

"What you do matters." J.C. spit out. It was conversation they had had before. What you do and how act impacts more than just yourself.

"Do you believe that?"

"Yes."

"Then in a world where so many people couldn't care less, be that someone who couldn't care more. Can you do that?"

"I'm your son aren't I?"

Max smiled. "Yes you are. I have faith that you can make everything alright. Follow your heart, but be sure to take your brain with you."

 _ **Playlist:**_

 _ **Devil's Spoke by Laura Marling—in the cafeteria**_


	9. You've Got A Friend In Me

You've Got A Friend In Me

The next day J.C. tried to talk to Paulie when he got to math class, but she was already busy copying down problems from the board, her eye's squinched together as she did. He noticed her notebook cover was taped in several places, but her pencil was a bright purple with a yellow smiley face eraser stuck to the top. When he stopped by her desk she shooed him away. He reluctantly headed back to his seat.

"Goodwin, what are you doing up there?" Kelton Miller asked when J.C. sat down next to his desk.

J.C. looked back up the aisle towards Paulie. "Nothing." He sighed.

"What's wrong? You look like you just lost your best friend."

"I need a friend."

"You got friends." He replied.

"Do I?"

"Sure, you got me, Mikey, Dalton, Stevie, Kyler, Chelsea, Lily—who I think likes you man."

"Well, if she's my friend shouldn't she like me?" J.C. asked.

"No, like thinks you're cute."

J.C. sat down at his desk and put his books down. He wasn't so sure about this list of friends that had just been rattled off. Yes, he knew them all, yes, he had spent time with them, but wasn't sure if they were truly friends. They felt much more like acquaintances, someone to text when bored and little more. He felt as if they were simply surface companions, no depth, around only in the good and easy times. He wanted to have more, be more. He had felt closer to a boy in Uganda the he had only known for a short time and who spoke very little English, than he did with any of these kids. Perhaps there was more to their relationships, but all he could see was their self-serving natures and fake empathy.

Later, in the cafeteria, J.C. began the hunt for Paulie, scanning the tables that hummed with energy that only children can churn out. He slipped his way through bodies and headed to the far corner where he had found her yesterday, hoping that she had returned to familiar territory. He stepped away from a group that had congregated near a garbage can to find the table of his destination, empty. He looked around one more time and finally gave up and sat down. He opened up his lunch box and began to empty its contents onto the table. He blew air out through his lips as he stared at the array of healthy foods that Georgia had packed him.

"Egg salad. You had tuna yesterday, she tries to pump you full of protein." Paulie said as she sat down. "Two days in a row. It's like you're actually looking for me."

"Because I am." J.C. said.

"You apologized for not being my BFF already so it's fine. It's more than anyone else has ever done for me."

"Here," J.C. said handing his sandwich over.

"You don't want it?" J.C. shook his head. "You have to eat something. You never eat, you're too skinny. I'll eat this great offering if you eat those carrot sticks," she said pointing to the baggie of colorful carrot sticks. "I didn't know they came in purple and white or is it yellow?"

"Organic colorful carrots. They are supposed to have more antioxidants or something."

"Antioxidants or not, eat them. Then we'll split the cookies," she said nodding at the two chocolate chip cookies.

The kids ate quietly, each unsure what to say to the other. After Paulie finished the sandwich she cleared her throat, wiped her face with her napkin and looked across the table, her brown eyes heavy with something J.C. couldn't identify.

"You don't have to be nice to me. If you keep this up," she said waving her arms around, "people are going to notice."

"It's important for me to be nice to you."

"Why?"

"Because it just is. I think that maybe you need me as much as I need you."

"I don't get it," she asked.

"I had a friend, we didn't even speak the same language, but I knew I was important to him and he was important to me. I want that again."

"What happened to him?"

"He died," J.C. said quietly.

"Oh, sorry. Hey, there's a note on your napkin," she said holding it up. "It says, 'Your greatness is not what you have, but what you give'."

"Georgia sometimes writes quotes and puts them in my lunch."

"Who's she? Your nanny?"

J.C. laughed out loud. "No, my step-mother."

"Ahh, divorced parents."

"No, they were never married."

"Scandalous. And here I thought doctor's were perfect."

"Hardly." J.C. said looking up to see Meredith heading their way. He blew out a mouthful of air he wasn't aware he had been holding, making Paulie turn and squint into the distance.

"You lost?" She asked J.C..

"No. But maybe you are."

"Oh really. What's going on with you? Self banishment? Did your dad tell you to shun the world? He can be a real hardass. We went outside for like five minutes and he has a fit and grounds you for like a week. But whatever, this is your problem then I guess. Look me up when your finished with whatever this is." She said before turning and leaving.

"You still like her don't you?" Paulie asked.

"No," J.C. scoffed.

"Yes you do, I can see it in your eyes."

"How come you squeeze your eyes so tightly all the time?" J.C. asked as he caught her squinting as she followed Meredith's departure.

"It's nothing, just a stupid habit. I have to go," she said as she got up.

"I'll walk you home," he offered.

"No. I don't need you to, I don't want you to. Besides I have to take a bus. I get bussed, can't afford this neighborhood. Walk Meredith home." She said as she stalked off.

Since their talk the day before, Max let J.C. come back to the hospital for a couple of nights that week. There were a few patients on the cardiac care unit that were due to be discharged in a few days and they adored their visits from J.C. and Max saw no reason to punish them for his son's misdeeds. That night after J.C.'s visits with Mr. Jameson and Mrs. Ward he was sitting at the nurses station squinting as he looked at a sign.

"Your eyes bothering you?" Tosha Astin, a nurse from the unit asked him.

"No. Why?" he asked.

"Cause you're squinting."

"Why do people squint?"

"Because there eyes need some help."

"And squinting helps?"

"Yep. It helps reshape the lens to make it easier to see, but just a little bit."

"So if someone was squinting all of the time then they can't see well?"

"Probably. Read this sign to me without squinting," she asked.

J.C. rattled off the rules about the in-house phone system with no difficulty as Tosha squinted at it from her spot nearby. "Do your eyes need help?" he asked.

"They have help, I just hate wearing my glasses." She said as she patted her pocket.

The next morning as J.C. shoved two barely worn t-shirts, one bearing his love for the city he lived in and the other a pale yellow that he never really liked, into his backpack as he told Georgia about his after school plans. "I'm going to stay after school and use the computer lab for a project."

"Okay. It closes it at 4:30 right?"

"Yeah."

"Be home right after," she reminded.

"I will," he said taking the lunch box she had handed him. "Tuna or egg salad?"

"Two different kinds of cheese. Please try and eat half of it. It's that one spicy nondairy cheese you like."

"The one made out of tofu?"

"Yes. I got some yesterday just for you."

"Okay. I'll eat it." J.C. had begun to shy away from traditional ingredients, he wasn't sure if he was making a moral stand or just trying to make the food battle that much more difficult.

"Thank you. Have a great day," she said as she bent over and kissed the top of his head.

At lunch that day he handed over half his sandwich to Paulie. "I promised I'd eat some."

"You're a good kid aren't you?"

"I try. But I fail too. I'm trying to do better."

"Well at least I'm getting some decent food out of the deal."

"You said you were bused to school. So what bus do you take?"

"The number four."

"Where is your real mother?" She asked as she ripped out a hunk of sandwich with her front teeth.

"Africa, at least I think that's where she is."

"Oh, man, you're that kid that leaves during the school year to travel to China and stuff. And has the scars?"

"Never been to China. But yeah, I go with my mom to a lot of places. And yes, I have scars." He said as he subconsciously tugged his long sleeves down, despite the fact they were already hugging his wrists.

"Where do you live?" He asked.

"Where'd you get those scars?" She retorted.

"Eat your sandwich."

The rest of the lunch was quiet, but neither made a move to leave at the end and shared a long look at each other. They each had questions for the other, but both were unwilling to give up what they kept close to their hearts. But J.C. had new information and now all he had to do was find bus number four and see where it took her.

He flipped his hood up and found a seat by the middle door. He had to pass right by Paulie who had chosen a seat up front behind the driver. But he turned his head away from her and she didn't seem to notice him. He checked the time on his phone and figured he wouldn't have a problem getting back home in timely manner. As angry as Max had been with him after the teasing incident, he had quickly relaxed any punishment that he had been so originally intent on. He could tell that J.C. was really trying to do the right thing and that's what had been the central lesson in this entire adventure. But J.C., like both of his parents never did anything halfway, so here he was following this girl home in an effort to get to know things about her that she wasn't yet ready to share.

He was lost in his thoughts and almost missed her hopping down the steps and onto the nearby sidewalk. He made a mad dash out of the nearby door and saw her walk away from him towards the corner. He kept a safe distance but made sure he didn't lose his focus, keeping her pink jacket in his sights. If she knew she was being followed she didn't show it. J.C. kept pace and saw her enter a bedraggled looking building. He ran up to the door a few seconds after she had entered and heard footsteps ascending. He quietly began his own march upward, staying a flight behind her. She stopped on the fourth floor and he got to the top just in time to see the door marked 4C close. He looked around at scarred doors and floor. He heard a baby crying in the apartment closest to him and some sort of scratching nearby, he wasn't sure he wanted to know who or what was causing that disturbance. He pulled his phone out and was about to check the time when the door to 4C opened with Paulie standing there Behind her was a worn couch that held three boys with varying skin tones, all staring at the opposite wall that most likely held a TV with a game system since each one held a controller in their hand. He didn't get any additional details before Paulie slammed the door behind her, but from what he could see the place looked as tired and worn out as she did.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, her arms crossed, foot tapping.

"I, I, forgot to give these to you at school," he said dropping his backpack to the floor, unzipping it and pulling out the two t-shirts he put in there that morning.

"Charity? That's why you followed me. You think I need clothes?"

"Don't you? I mean, okay, if you don't want them then I'll take them back. It's just that I don't wear them, yellow isn't really my color, it makes me look jaundiced. But your hair and eyes are darker, it will look better on you." He said of her brown hair and eyes.

"Fine!" She said pulling it from his hands, feeling its softness and smelling its freshness.

"This one too, if you want it. You'll look like a tourist though." He said handing off a white shirt with red three quarter length sleeves that proclaimed that the wearer loved New York.

"Why do you have this?"

"Georgia's parents live in Connecticut and I guess they they saw it while they were in the city—and I don't know, bought it for me."

Paulie looked defeated as she took it and draped it over the yellow shirt. "Thanks I guess."

"Sure. Are those your brothers in there?"

"Cousins. I live with my aunt. Go home. You don't belong here."

"I just want—"

"Want what?"

"To be your friend. To help you."

"Help me what?"

J.C. shrugged. "Help you be my friend."

"Why? You have friends."

"Not really. I want a friend I can trust. I want a friend who is real."

"I don't get it," she said as the door opened behind her, revealing a boy who looked around their age.

"Paulie has a boyfriend," he sang out.

"Shut-up," Clifford she yelled out. "Let's go downstairs. What do you mean real?"

J.C. held onto the rickety banister as their legs gobbled up each step as they descended. "I'm not sure if I can explain it."

"Well try, because you know what I want? I want someone who isn't going to stand here and tell me all this bullshit and then when he feels better or gets through his problem or his punishment or whatever, won't turn around and walk away from me or talk about me behind my back. Why should I trust you? Why are you worth me pretending to believe that someone cares about me?"

"Because I followed you here?" J.C. tried as they approached the front door and went back outside.

"Not good enough. I don't want to be someone's Boy Scout project."

"Because I need you. Because I have so much in my head right now that I just want to trash the world but I can't and I can't even tell anyone because they won't understand or won't care."

"What about Kyler and Kelton and Lily?"

"They don't care about anything but what sweaters are on sale at Barneys or why their I-pad won't sync with their WiFi. They won't understand, they can't understand."

"What? That life can suck?"

"Yeah. Their biggest problem is a C on a math test or the fact that their favorite jeans have a hole in the wrong place."

"And you think because I'm dirt poor, living in a dump, with old crappy clothes, I'll understand?"

"I guess."

"How can I know that I can trust you?"

"Because I'm broken and I tell you about these," he said touching the scar on his neck and pulling his sleeves up to reveal the jagged stripes up his arms.

"Start talking," she said as they both sat down on the front step. So he did.

Fifteen minutes later they had moved behind a nearby building strewn with old mattresses, box springs, high chairs and other assorted garbage and unwanted items.

"So you don't remember most of it?"

"Nope, just what I told you. I see a therapist twice a week but very few memories have surfaced."

"Wow. I get it though, the black out stuff. My mom's dealer dangled me out the window by my leg when I was six, don't remember a damn thing. A few weeks after that she was gone."

"Is that why you live with your aunt?"

"Yeah. She's okay, works two jobs, is exhausted and overwhelmed. She has three boys by three different men in a two bedroom apartment that is barely big enough for two people much-less five. But she took me in. I was in the foster care system and that sucked. The one family that was halfway decent was exhausted and overwhelmed too.

"I don't have my own room, I don't have any room actually, I sleep on the couch. I have to scrounge for change to drag what few clothes I have to a shitty laundromat two blocks away. She always forgets to fill out forms for a decent free lunch, but I have a place to go, food to eat."

"Good food?" J.C. asked.

"No, crappy food, but at least I'm not always hungry. Sometimes, but not always. Your mom is still in Africa, even after what happened?"

"Yeah."

"She didn't come back with you?"

"No."

"Is she a doctor too?"

"No, a nurse practitioner."

"What's that?" 

"A nurse who is almost a doctor."

"Are you going to be a doctor?"

J.C. shrugged. "I don't know. It seems like a really frustrating job. Trying to help people that the insurance company and the hospital says you can't. Helping people that don't want to be helped. Helping people who need it and want it, but can't pay for it."

"Sounds broken, just like you."

"Yeah, so broken, barely functioning." He said as he kicked at the tray from an old high chair. "Sometimes I just want to break stuff. I get so mad and just want to destroy everything. I trashed my dad's office."

"You did?"

J.C. nodded and went on to tell her the details.

"He has cancer? I'm sorry. I hope he beats it."

"Me too."

Paulie looked around. "This is just garbage already. Nobody will notice if we trash it even further."

J.C. smiled. "Let's do it!"

The two kicked at the remnants of a bookshelf and picked up various items including old buckets, dresser drawers, speakers and cabinets, tossing them around as best they could and laughing at the emotional release it gave them.

"That was great," she said when they had gotten their fill and were left breathless.

J.C. looked at his phone and was shocked to see it was 5:30 and he had several texts and missed calls. "Oh shit," he said surprising himself with his language since he never used such words nor did he often hear them.

"What's wrong?" 

"I was supposed to be home forty-five minutes ago. I am so dead."

"I'll walk back to the bus stop with you. Where do you live?"

"Few blocks from the school."

"Hmm, there's one coming soon that will take you to New Amsterdam. "I ride that route sometimes. Is your dad working tonight?" She asked, now aware of where Max worked and that Georgia was a dancer and very pregnant with the couples first child.

"I'm sure he is. Why do you ride the route?"

"Because I don't want to be here," she said as she grabbed his hand and tugged him back towards the bus stop.

When they reached the stop, they saw that the bus was already heading their way. "I'm not pretending," J.C. told her as he dug for his metro card. "I'm your real friend."

"Who decides what is real anyway," she said as he the bus squeaked to a stop in front of them.

"What?" J.C. asked not having heard.

"You coming up or not kid?" The driver asked impatiently as he stared down from the driver's seat.

"Max it's after five and J.C. isn't home. He was supposed to stay after school and use the computer lab. But I'm at the school now and the doors are locked and there's no sign of him. Please tell me he is with you," Georgia cried into the phone.

"Okay, calm down. I'm sure he's here," Max began, as he picked up a hospital phone and called down to the main security desk and asked if anyone had seen his son. But all reports came back negative. "He's not here. I'm sure he's probably on his way. Maybe he missed the bus and had to wait for the next one."

"Then why doesn't he answer my texts or calls?"

"Maybe his phone died."

"I make sure it's at one hundred percent before he leaves for school. I can't imagine he used it that much by now."

"You'd be surprised. Especially if he stayed after school. I'm sure he's fine. Why don't you walk back home in case you missed him on your way to the school. I'll call him and let you know if he shows up here."

"Okay." She replied in a shakily, the distress in her voice very evident.

Max knew she worried about J.C., plus the hormones were flooding her system and her maternal instinct was on overdrive. He stayed calm and assuring but inside, he was beginning to panic as well. J.C. had never been one to wander off, at least not far. And he loved walking home from school and Max couldn't imagine that he would put that in jeopardy for something frivolous. So where was he? He wondered as he dialed the phone.

J.C. felt his phone vibrate and saw his dad's picture pop up onto the screen. All the release he had felt from smashing unwanted pieces from people's lives had dissipated and his anxiety was beginning to seep back inside him. Now, his father was calling him and he was owed the knowledge that he was fine along with an explanation for where he had been, but J.C. hesitated before swiping the call open. It's not that he had never seen the other side of a timeout, he was far from perfect. But he had just gotten into trouble and now, now he didn't even have a plausible story and he wasn't sure how the truth would make him look.

He looked down and noticed the window to answer the call had ended. He quickly set up a group text to both his father and Georgia, telling them he was fine and on his way to New Amsterdam. It took only a few seconds before Max's face showed back up on his screen.

"Hello," J.C. croaked with uncertainty.

"Thank God," Max replied. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just lost track of time. Sorry."

"And you didn't pay attention to your phone either. How far out are you?"

"Not sure and traffic is pretty bad."

"Call me when you get close." Max ordered.

J.C. agreed and hung up only to answer another call from Georgia and telling her the same thing. He ran scenarios through his head that he could tell his father, but by the time the bus neared the hospital J.C. still hadn't come up with anything that was remotely believable and besides, he was a lousy liar. So he would have to try and spin the truth so it didn't make him look like a lying, creepy stalker. But he didn't regret his journey. Getting everything off of his chest had been worth it. It was something he had been in desperate need of. Dr. Frome was great, but he wasn't a kid and didn't know what it felt like to sit in a cafeteria alone and know that the nearby whispers are about you. To know that you had been the subject of the small gatherings in the hallway, the stares following you as you passed by. To know that despite your best efforts, you would never fit in, not truly. Secrets, rumors and lies ruled the day.

As promised, J.C. called when things began to look familiar and Max met him at the E.D. doors. Surprisingly enough he didn't look as upset as he had when J.C. and Meredith and stepped outside a few weeks ago. "Are you okay?" He asked hurriedly.

"Fine. Sorry," he repeated as he watched an abandoned jacket slip from one of the waiting room chairs to the floor giving him an idea.

Max took his son by the shoulder and steered them into an empty exam room. "What happened?"

"I was just doing what you wanted me to," J.C. began. By the time he finished his story Max was sighing, his shoulders heaving up and down with each breath. "I swear it's the truth."

"I'm sure it is, you're a terrible liar. But to be fair that's not exactly what I told you to do. I don't recall telling you to lie or leave the neighborhood."

"But I had to."

"Had to? I don't think so. I think you can help her plenty while you're in school."

"But she wouldn't tell me anything."

"Jay, you've known her for two days, give her some time. Friendships and history aren't made in a day. You're breathing down her neck. It's great you want to help her but take it one step at a time. Georgia was terrified and rightly so."

"Were you?" J.C. asked.

"What? Terrified? I was getting there. You can't just take off on your own. You didn't know that neighborhood and that neighborhood didn't know you. And we didn't know where you were. The reason you have a phone is so we can keep in contact with you, if you aren't going to answer it then perhaps you don't need it."

"I do need it, I just forgot to take it off silent after school."

Max opened his mouth to answer him when his own phone chirped and he was needed elsewhere. "I have to go, but I want you to stop in and see Mrs. Ward in the CCU, she gets out in the morning and has a scarf or something she knitted for you, and the little boy Stevie on the burn ward was asking for you earlier. Then I want you in my office. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir," J.C. said quietly.

"Sir, how formal." Max said as he bent down and kissed his son on the head and ruffled his hair before leaving the room.

J.C. watched his father turn the corner and disappear. He was thankful that what he was looking for was the other direction. He made his way out of the room and down the hall, took a right and then a left to a small area where they sometimes took family members to give them news about a patient in the emergency department. It held a table and a few chairs and the box he was looking for: a plastic tote that held a cardboard sign proclaiming this was the place for lost and found items. He dove in and began to analyze each article to see if it was a size and/or style that Paulie might wear. By the time he had reached the bottom of the box, he had accumulated a pale lavender sweatshirt, a yellow and white striped short sleeved shirt and a burgundy colored button down shirt. Before stuffing them into his backpack he wondered how someone lost a shirt, especially a girl, but he guessed it didn't make a difference, their loss was his gain or Paulie's in this case. He then began to make his way towards Mrs. Ward's room but passed by a donation box for glasses. He peered inside and saw one pair, a large plastic looking set with square lenses. This gave him another idea. The eye care clinic was on the next floor and it had several donation boxes. He smiled as he climbed up one more level.

 _ **I do apologize for the slow updates. For whatever reason this story is coming to me completely out of order and it makes it hard for timely updates.**_

 _ **A big thank you for the reviews especially Akarensilla's kind words.**_

 _ **Play list: I Wanna Destroy by Ema when the kids are throwing stuff around (I used the one before when J.C. trashed Max's office, but it fits nicely here too.**_

 _ **Oh Very Young by Cat Stevens while the J.C. and Paulie are getting to know each other**_


	10. Rein Him In

Rein Him In

Three days later Dora finally caught up with Max in building B. She couldn't understand how the man still had this much energy while going through his cancer treatments. It was true he didn't get around as fast or as far, and often wore a pinched, exhausted look, but damn he could still move.

"Hey Max, do you have a second?" She asked him.

Max pulled up and turned to look back at the administrator. "Sure, what's up?"

"It's about J.C.."

"Has anyone complained about him?"

"No, not really," she began. "But—"

"The janitorial staff have a problem with him?" Max interrupted.

"No they say he helps put down and remove the wet floor signs, helps get the rags and stuff to the laundry."

"The laundry department?"

"No, he helps fold the towels."

"Burn unit?"

" He quietly visits the worst cases and reads to some of them."

"Pediatrics?"

"They love his energy and he plays with the kids."

" Oncology?"

" He's at ease with the lack of hair, IV's and vomiting."

" Geriatrics?" Max asked continuing to go through the list of departments.

"He actually managed to get Mrs. Ruhl to smile. And he's the only one that can get Mabel Mathis to walk the corridors like she's supposed to."

"Yeah, he sounds like a disaster. I better rein him in. Or perhaps we should give him a job here."

"He's a great kid Max, and he's been amazing here."

"But? I'm sensing a but."

"Well, I just spoke with Marion Lesky in the eye clinic and she said that the donation box they set up for people's old glasses had disappeared."

"Disappeared? Why would anyone want take old prescription eye wear?"

"The box is back now, but Marion had no idea how many pairs were in there so she can't say if any were taken. But—"

"Here's the but I've been waiting for."

"J.C. had been in there. He never goes in there."

"But he was and then—let me guess, the box disappeared."

"Yeah, something like that. Does he wear glasses?"

"No. He had his eyes checked at school at the beginning of the year. Passed with flying colors. Plus Georgia would notice if something was off at least I think she would. Or I would. Maybe. Besides why wouldn't he come to me if he had issues?

"Did she see him take the box?" Max asked.

"No. But he was in the office and she turned to get a form from the printer and when she turned back around he and the box were gone. She was home with her sick child for a few days and when she came back the box was sitting on the counter where it had been."

"And that's why it took her a few days to report it?"

"Yes. We obviously can't say J.C. took the box, but if you could talk to him about it. See if there was a reason he might take it. Perhaps there was a dare or scavenger hunt going on? But he needs to understand that he can't just help himself to hospital property and things that don't belong to him."

"Of course. I'll talk to him. But I have another conversation I have to deal with first."

Max quickly shifted gears and accompanied Bloom up to Iggy's office on the premise of a VIP needing to be attended to. But she soon discovered that she was indeed the guest of honor. When Max broke the reason as to why she was there her first response was an odd one.

"There's been reports that you've had issues with Adderall while on duty." Max explained as Iggy stood by waiting for his turn.

"J.C." Slipped from her lips before she could stop it. His face, their recent conversation had all pushed to the front of the line of logic. But as soon as she said she tried to suck it back in, a useless inhalation at best.

"What does my son have to do with this?" Max asked, clearly as concerned as he was confused.

"Nothing," she said shaking her head.

"Then why did you say his name?"

"I didn't," she balked. "I said, I see."

Max cocked his head in the typical manner which spelled out uncertainty and that the conversation would soon be revisited. He righted himself and then nodded, leaving the rest to Iggy. He had much to attend to and knew that Dr. Bloom, the patients and the hospital were in capable hands. He had confidence with what was about to happen in this modest office with a modest man who knew enough to right many of the wrongs that world assigned to those who could least handle them.

With the managerial obligations gobbling up all of his day, he barely made it to say goodbye to Lauren before she left for whatever time it would take her to get well. "You know we're all behind you. This hospital needs you, and I will personally support you in way that I can. I, we, just want you to get better."

"Thank you boss," she said with a weak smile.

"How often does J.C. visit the E.D.?" Max asked quietly as he looked off into the night.

"He doesn't know anything about my—my problem," she lied.

"Not what I asked." He said still looking into the distance.

"Two or three times a week. He never gets in the way Max, he just observes. He's a sponge, takes in everything, seemingly forgets nothing. It's like I can see him filing it all away. I know that you didn't want him in the E.D., but I think he's going to grow up to be amazing and I just wanted to be a part of that."

Max peered into the car and smiled. "Get well. You're already amazing and we want you back."

Max texted J.C. on his way back inside the hospital to meet him in his office. The response was slower than he had liked but several minutes later J.C. confirmed he was on his way.

"Are we going home?" J.C. asked, his eyes looking tired as he entered the office.

"Soon. Tired?"

"No," he lied. "I'm fine."

"Homework done?" 

"Yep. All of it," J.C. said with a weak smile.

"Have seat kiddo," Max said waving towards the couch. J.C. plopped down, beginning to get suspicious. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

He sat for a moment chewing on his bottom lip. "Why do I feel like there is no right answer here."

"You know the answer to that. What is always the right answer?"

"The truth."

"Then tell me the truth."

"About what?"

"How about being in the E.D. department."

"I don't—"

"How about I don't want to lie to my father." Max said raising his eyebrows.

J.C. let out a breath and looked down at the floor. "I go there sometimes. But I stay out of the way."

"How often did I tell you could go into the E.D."

"Never," J.C. admitted.

"Is sometimes more than never?"

"Yeah."

"So you disobeyed me."

"I guess."

"You guess huh? I think it's a little more black and white than that."

"Sorry."

Max sighed knowing how the allure of the forbidden so often tugged at a young boys heart. "Look, there are rules for being here. Not going outside, which you broke, not going into the E.D., which you broke. So what I am supposed to do?" J.C. shrugged. "Look kid, help me out. You have been such an asset here, but I can't allow you roam in places that you aren't allowed. Like the eye clinic, care to explain that?"

J.C.'s head snapped up. "The eye clinic?"

"Do you know anything about the donation box of glasses disappearing?"

"I put them back."

"So you do know?"

"I guess."

"You guess again.? A lot of guessing going on tonight." Max said trying to hide the smile that was threatening the corners of his lips.

"Paulie squints all of the time because she can't see. She has to sit up front. I wanted to find some glasses for her."

"Buddy, glasses have to be specific to each person. She needs a prescription."

"But her aunt won't take her for one. No money, no time. We found a pair that really help. They're even pink."

"Pink huh?"

"Yeah. Girls like pink," J.C. said, his statement matter-of-fact.

"Well, I'll give you a form to give to Paulie. If she can't get her aunt to fill it out and bring her in, then you bring Paulie in to see me and we'll see what we can do. Okay?"

"Okay," J.C. agreed.

"Meanwhile, no E.D., you go back there, you're grounded for a week and the apartment could use a good scrubbing if you get my drift."

"Got it. No E.D."

"And no stealing the donation boxes of any kind."

"I just borrowed the box and only stole one pair. But she needed the donation, so it was really just—donating."

Max shook his head. "Grab your coat, we're out of here."


	11. Hand in Hand

Hand in Hand

The weeks tumbled by and for the most part J.C. didn't steal or borrow anything that didn't belong to him, at least not from the hospital. He still spent quite a bit of time at New Amsterdam along with a lot of time out and about with his new friend, which was beginning to give Max pause.

"Where's J.C.?" Max asked as he shed his coat as he entered the apartment.

"You're home early," Georgia said happily, looking up from her dinner preparation.

"Yeah, I can hardly believe it myself. Where's the boy?" He said as he collapsed on the couch.

"Union Square at the playground, Evelyn's Playground, I think it's called."

"Who is he with?"

"Who else?"

"Paulie."

"Does she live over that way?"

"I'm not sure. I think I asked once but never got an answer. Anyway, I've kept an eye on his location," she said holding up her phone. "He's where he's supposed to be. I was just about to text him and tell him to head home. I had planned on walking over there and picking him up, but you're home now."

"How about I go pick him up?"

"Sounds great, if your sure? I really could use the exercise though." She said twisting her lips in indecision.

"I could use the fresh air."

"Okay then, I won't complain. My hips are killing me."

Max pushed himself up off of the couch, grabbing his coat as he did so, and walked over to Georgia and gave her a kiss. She showed him the dot that represented their son. "Tell Paulie that she is welcome to come for dinner."

"I will." He said distractedly as he slipped his arms into his jacket.

"What is it?"

"I know you're watching him on his phone, but that just indicates where his phone is, which might not be where he is. I just get a little nervous with him being outside, blocks away, alone."

"Dr. Mayfield and Dr. Frome both said we needed to give him a little bit of freedom. The park isn't that far and he has always been responsible when I've allowed him to go. Plus I followed him the first three times he went there."

"You did?"

"Oh yeah. I watched him for a while and then came home before he spotted me. He went where he said he was going, he waited for the light before crossing the street and he didn't talk to any strangers."

"Did you ever see Paulie?"

She shook her head. "No, not that I know of. He always seemed to be alone."

Max flipped his hood up and headed towards the door. "We'll be back soon."

He hit the sidewalk and headed towards the park as people bobbed and weaved around each other in their attempts at moving further and faster. He sighed as he thought of his son. He was afraid that the boy was spending far too much time with this girl. A girl whose parents or guardian he had never met. A girl whose apartment he didn't know. A girl, he didn't know. Max was far from a helicopter parent, but he had met all of J.C.'s friends and most of their parents, until now that was.

He was proud of what J.C. had done in befriending this girl, but it suddenly seemed that so much of J.C.'s time and energy went to this girl and her needs. It made Max wonder just how healthy this relationship was. J.C. seemed consumed by this new friend even foregoing some evenings at the hospital. He had even missed a session with Iggy last week claiming he forgot and said he had stayed after school to help Paulie with her homework. He had been caught taking things from the lost and found box at the hospital that might fit her, along with siphoning off some of Georgia's shampoo and a box of snack cakes that had been squirreled away. Oh, and of course the entire eye wear donation box from the clinic. He feared that J.C. was getting too involved and the ending might not be the fairy tale that his son had hoped it would be.

As he prepared to cross the last street, he could hear the chatter and laughter of children over the street noise. He thought of the pending birth of his daughter and as happy and excited as that made him he couldn't quite embrace it in its entirety. Not with his first born, enduring some kind of purgatory, in between memories, reality and fear. Perhaps Luna's birth will redirect everything towards a brighter future. At least he could hope as much. They both needed a positive outlook on their lives.

A few weeks before, Max had caught him trying to access his laptop. J.C. lied about it of course, but he was a lousy liar and he saw right through whatever weak excuse had been offered up. He was certain that the boy was trying to find the video from Uganda. For that reason he had used a math calculation for a prescription that would make no sense to anyone outside the medical field. No sentimentalism in his choice of protection.

As he stepped onto the playground he saw J.C. jumping from some kind of climbing apparatus. His sweatshirt flipped up and Max saw how thin he was. He knew his sons eating habits were way off track and had been since his return from Africa. At first he left him alone, since the trauma had been so fresh, he hadn't wanted to push him. Then it was the job at New Amsterdam that took his attention. Next was the emergency with Georgia and Luna. After that was his cancer diagnosis. Then his near death experience. Now, well now, he wasn't sure what he could blame—his treatments, his job, the treatments and the job? Everything?

"Dad!" J.C. yelled running over and slamming into him. Max opened his arms up and embraced his son. "You're home early."

"Yes I am. Is Paulie here? Georgia asked if she could come to dinner."

"She just left. I was climbing my way out of the playground to come home."

"I'm sorry that I missed her. I was hoping to finally meet her." Max said looking across the play area for a girl with pink glasses.

"Yep. She had to get home." J.C. said smoothing out his sweatshirt.

"Where does she live?"

"That way," J.C. said waving in every general direction behind him, giving Max absolutely no indication of anything. "Let's go," he urged tugging Max towards the street.

"Okay, okay. I'm hungry, what about you?"

"Sure," J.C. said with no conviction. Max reached down and grabbed for his son's hand and took it in his own as they neared the curb. "Dad, I'm not a baby. I don't need you to hold my hand. I made it here all by myself." J.C. said as he looked up at his father.

Max looked down and wished for a moment that he was still a baby, that they could start all over again. That he could erase the last several months and all the horror that it had brought. But of course he held no such power so he smiled and gave a nod as he released his sons hand. "I'm so sorry young man. You lead the way."

J.C. nodded and looked at the collection of cars and the traffic lights, waiting for their turn to go. As the lights slipped to their opposing colors, Max felt his son's small hand slip back into his, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for just a moment, feeling for a brief second, that all was right in the world.

As they continued their journey J.C. chattered away about his day, but seemed to give no actual details about anything. Max truly wanted to believe that everything was okay. He wanted to forget that his son woke up in the throes of a nightmare at least once a night, tangled up in his sheets, his brow sweaty, and panting as if he had just run for his life. He wanted to forget that J.C.'s favorite sleeping position was the fetal position, going back to a time in his life where nothing could hurt him. He wanted to forget that his son pushed away nutrition just as his nightmares pushed away his sleep. He wanted to forget that despite his son's survival, he had lost part of himself that day, and it was entirely possible—probable, that he would never get it back.

"Do you have homework?" Max asked as he realized that J.C. had stopped talking.

"Yep. A lot," he admitted.

"Well, you should probably get started when we get home."

"Okay."

Once home J.C. happily skittered off into his room and away from the scent of food.

"Dinner will be ready soon. I had the pot roast in the crock pot thinking you wouldn't be joining us. But since you're here, I thought mashed potatoes would go down easy and I can put some peas and the meat in the blender for you."

"Definitely," Max agreed, hoping his appetite would be ready for the meal. "How much does J.C. eat for dinner?"

"Well, many night's he's with you at the hospital," she reminded Max, whose heart dropped from his chest as he realized that most nights he never followed up on J.C. to see what he had or hadn't eaten. He had started an account in the cafeteria that allowed J.C. to purchase food at any time and put it on Max's tab. But he hadn't thought to check the charges to see if J.C. had actually purchased anything or eaten it.

"But, at home," Georgia continued, "he'll eventually work his way through a small portion. I figure something is better than nothing and sometimes he'll even eat a snack later in the evening. I know you're concerned about his eating habits. So am I. But I 'm so afraid that'll I'll say the wrong thing and he won't eat anything. Do you know if he talks to Iggy about it in his sessions?"

"No, I don't know," Max said, looking up as he tore himself away from the depths of his concern.

"I know that the court date is coming up and you want J.C. to show the rewards of being in a stable environment, but there's no way that Karen isn't going to notice his weight loss. I mean he wasn't carrying any extra weight when he left for the trip, but, well—there's no denying he's lost weight since his return."

"I imagine that Iggy would be trying to gain understanding of J.C.'s reasons not to eat." Max offered, wishing that his son could just open up to him, but then would he be there to listen? Would he be able to hear what his son had to tell him?

"I'm sure he's attempting to get to the heart of it all. Treat the disease not just the symptoms as they say, Dr. Goodwin," Georgia said leaning over for a kiss. "You okay?" She asked as Max was still distant.

"Yeah. Fine." He answered, thinking how could he be okay? How could any of this be okay? "Just, thinking about the court date. What will the judge ask, will Karen be there or will she just send her lawyer and what will the judge think of that. And oh, the fact that I haven't even mentioned this to J.C. and when I do, how will he respond." He was also thinking about how much his throat hurt all the time. How well the treatments would attack his cancer and how much it would shatter his entire being. Add to that the loss of Dean Fulton and how things might change at the hospital. Would he be able to continue the quest he had set out on. Would any of his efforts even matter?

"He knows you love him very much and only want what's best for him. Besides, I don't think he has any great desire to go overseas again anytime soon." Georgia continued.

"So, you've never met Paulie? Right?" Max asked changing the subject.

"Never. I even walked to the school to meet him a few times in hopes that I could catch sight of her. Why?"

"It's just that, he has spent so much time with her and neither one of us has met her. I don't like it. Why is he hiding her? Or why is she hiding from us?"

"Because they're eleven and eleven year old kid's are mysterious. I wouldn't worry too much about it."

Max looked over with a tight smile and went into the bedroom to change clothes.

Twenty minutes later at the dinner table, J.C. picked at his food, pushing it around and around, displacing peas and mashing already mashed potatoes, but so far very little of it had made it to his mouth.

"Quit playing with it and eat it," Max ordered. His fatigue had crept up and held him like a vise and any patience that he may have held had slipped away as he tried to hang on and participate in not only this dinner but in life in general.

"I'm done," J.C. said as he stood up.

"Freeze. Sit down. You're not done. You don't tell us when your done. You asked to be excused." Max commanded.

"Fine. Can I be excused," J.C. huffed.

"No. Not until you eat." Max stated sternly.

"But I don't want to eat," he complained as he sat back down.

"You need to eat," Max replied. "Why can't you just eat a meal without complaining? You've seen people who never have enough to eat and what it does to them. You have a perfectly good meal in front of you and you aren't going to get up until you eat it." He said looking at his own mound of mashed potatoes next to his glass of meat and peas, the straw leaning away from him.

J.C. looked down at his plate that held a strip of pot roast along with the aforementioned side dishes. He poked at the meat and grimaced. "Meat is gross."

Max dropped his fork onto his plate, causing a clatter that made Georgia jump. "Can you eat your peas for me?" She asked gently, giving the boy a supportive look.

J.C. looked down at this plate as if it was his enemy, but he stabbed at his peas one by one until they were gone. "There, can I go now?"

"Is your plate empty?" Max asked.

"No," J.C. replied.

"Then no you can't," Max snapped.

"How about you eat you're potatoes," Georgia coaxed.

"And your meat," Max added.

"Meat's—"

"Gross, I know," Max finished, clearly frustrated.

"How about you eat your potatoes and three pieces of meat," Georgia negotiated.

J.C. sighed but began to work on the food in front of him, starting with the potatoes and taking tiny bites of meat leaving most of it there. "There, I did what you wanted. I'm done." He said folding his arms across his chest.

Max got up and went around the table and cut off two more pieces of meat. "Eat those and then you may be excused."

"No," J.C. said wanting to stand up, but with Max standing next to him there was no room.

"I'm not going to argue with you Jason."

"I'm not going to eat that."

"Max, he ate most of his dinner. He can have a snack later." Georgia offered.

"No. He needs to eat. God only knows what he does or doesn't eat when he isn't supervised." Max said looking over at his wife. He was aware that some of this frustration was directed at himself for not monitoring his son while in his care, but as often happens, the blame gets turned outward. While he was distracted J.C. slipped out of his chair and under the table, popping out on the other side and began to walk to his room. "Hey. Get back here young man."

Georgia stood up. "Max just let him go."

"I am not going to negotiate, beg and plead for him to eat every damn day. This is getting ridiculous." Max answered, clearly frustrated.

"I know. But we have to go about the right way. Talk to Iggy, Dr. Mayfield. We have to find out the source of this issue, yelling and berating him isn't going to solve anything."

Max wanted to follow his son, demand that he finish his dinner, eat more, shape up, be normal. But as he watched his son disappear into his room, he realized he didn't have the heart or the words and J.C. simply didn't have the strength, desire or the means.

Playlist: (at the very end of the chapter)

Such A Simple Thing by Ray LaMontagne


	12. Soldier's Eyes

Soldiers Eyes

The next day, Georgia quietly made her way through the hallways, trying to avoid seeing anyone familiar. She didn't want to answer any questions or making any excuses she just wanted to get to Dr. Frome who had agreed to see her on his lunch hour.

"Come on in Georgia," he said waving her inside his office. "Is it okay if I eat while we talk?" He asked nodding at his lunch sitting on his desk.

"Of course. Thank you so much for making time for me on such short notice."

"Well, you sounded—well like you needed to talk. How are things?"

"We're managing. I'm doing fine, Luna is great." She said rubbing her expanded belly.

"But—"

"Max is so stressed. With his cancer and the responsibilities of the hospital. And J.C., it's just a lot."

"Yes it is. Each part of that equation is overwhelming. Can I go out on a limb and ask if perhaps J.C. is the reason you're here?"

Georgia's lips flickered a smile before going flat again. "He's been in therapy since he got back from Africa months ago, but I feel as if nothing has changed. It's like some kind of purgatory. He goes to school, he has a few friends, he runs around the hospital, he's polite and well behaved, but it's like there is something just under the surface. I can feel it, Max can feel it and I know that J.C. can as well."

"Have you seen the footage of the attack?" Iggy asked.

Georgia swallowed. "Just parts of it. I know he wants to remember but part of him is terrified."

"He told you that?"

"No, but I can tell. He knows once he sees it there is no going back. But we just can't keep going like this. It's like the fuse is burning down and soon there will be an explosion."

"He is a very bright and articulate boy and I sense the very same things that you do. He has remembered a few things leading up to the attack but nothing too detailed."

"He won't eat Dr. Frome. Why won't he eat?" Georgia asked shifting gears, fiddling with the zipper of her coat.

Iggy smiled. "Call me Iggy."

Georgia got up and began to pace. "Max is losing his patience. He told me that I baby him. Maybe I do, but he's just a little boy. A little boy who has been through so much and I just want him to feel safe, to feel loved. Wait, that didn't come out right. Max loves him, shows his love, tells J.C. he loves him, but, he's so scared and—and I don't even know what is right for anyone anymore."

"Who's scared? J.C. or Max?"

"Both. They're both terrified. Max sees his son disappearing in front of his eyes, but sometimes I don't even think it's about J.C. in particular at this point."

"What do you mean by that?" Iggy asked as he chewed on a carrot stick.

"Max had Karen, J.C.'s mother served with a custody amendment. He's suing for full custody unless she comes back to the U.S. and agrees not to take him from the mainland. The court date is coming up and I think he's afraid that if J.C. isn't in top shape she will throw accusations at Max that he isn't capable of caring for J.C. and he might lose the case."

"He doesn't want to give her any ammunition to fight with."

"Sometimes I think he just wants to show her he's a better father than she is a mother and J.C. is just a pawn. That sounded awful—I didn't mean it to. Like I said, Max loves J.C. so much, there's no doubt in that. He will watch him sleep and the look on his face—well I just hope he looks at the Luna the same way. But somehow, even though I know he is concerned about J.C.'s health, it's more about how Max looks as a father. That he has to win this contest."

"And if J.C. is too thin and appears to have an eating disorder, it will appear that he doesn't have his house in order."

"Yes. Max is all about results. As you know he will do whatever he needs to in order to gain a positive outcome, but nothing is working with his own son. In his mind, what does that say about him."

"It's like the police officer who has a juvenile delinquent as a child or a firefighter with an arsonist in the family."

"Yes. He can't have a sick child, despite what he's gone through. He blames himself that he can't fix J.C. or find someone who can. Karen didn't protect J.C. and now Max feels he can't fix him. He feels like he failed."

"Healing the mind is a slow process and often one step forward and two steps back. I have been working with J.C. concerning his eating habits."

"And?"

"And, I feel confident in saying that it isn't a body image issue."

"Then what is it?"

"I think it's about control. He feels he doesn't have any." Georgia looked confused. "Look at it from his perspective, he is told what to do all day at school, then at home there are rules of course and homework etc. He has some freedom at the hospital but still he must always follow the rules. Don't get me wrong, it's what childhood is and needs to be. Having an eleven year old running amok doesn't help anyone, most especially the child. But sometimes you just get tired of being told what to do and when to do it. And then add to that, all that he's been through and he really feels as if he has no control. It's a common thing for victims to feel powerless and in addition he can't even remember what his holding him hostage. But he can decide on what he eats and doesn't eat. And he also knows that the adults can't force him, but at the same time they are noticing, and that gives him even more power."

"Wow. I never thought about that."

"I also believe that he's using the denial of food as punishment."

"I don't understand."

"For surviving. Sometimes surviving is harder than anyone can ever imagine. People often feel guilty simply for still being alive when so many others didn't make it.

"My advice right now would be to give him some control. Take him shopping with you, have him help you plan the menu. Have him help you cook it. Once he is invested in the process perhaps it will give him the desire to eat more."

"It's worth a shot."

"I understand your fear and Max's frustration. You guys are dealing with so much and J.C. may be afraid he's getting lost in the mix and not eating gets him the attention he wants or needs. Or, he feels that he doesn't deserve to eat well."

"Or all of it," Georgia said.

"Or all of it. Yes. Is there something else?" Iggy asked as Georgia looked off into the distance.

"It's just that, I believe Karen has used her son in a battle against her parents. And now I'm afraid Max is using J.C. in a battle against Karen. And I'm afraid J.C. is aware of it all."

Iggy nodded his head. "Kids so often are."

Later that day, as the afternoon had officially turned to evening, Iggy tracked down Max as he just finished assisting with a new case. "Gotta minute?"

"Sure. Need a hand?" Max asked.

"No, I just need you for a minute. It's about J.C."

"Is he okay?" Max asked they walked towards the doctor's lounge.

"His eating, or lack there of is becoming more of a concern. It seems that everything is escalating at home; your illness, the baby's due date, his desire to know the truth about his experience. I'm afraid he's going to slip further away."

Max looked at his colleague, his eyes reflecting an uncertainty. "I can't disagree with you as much as I'd like to. I'm at a loss as to what to do. He's been an easy kid to raise up until—well until recently. I don't want to disregard his emotions and experience but at the same time I don't want to treat him with kid gloves, make him feel awkward or different."

"I agree you're in a tough spot. I wish I could tell you exactly what the best course of action would be, but honestly I'm not sure. My suggestion is to include in meal planning and preparing. That might help out."

"Georgia talked to you didn't she?"

Iggy smiled. "She's worried about him, about both of you."

"Did she tell you about the custody amendment?"

"She mentioned your concerns about it. Look at everything from J.C.'s perspective." Max tilted his head and looked at Iggy as he leaned against the wall and spread his arms open in an indication that he should go ahead. "He looks at you and sees these monstrous shoes to fill. His father, that would be you." Max nodded and gave a quick smile. "You ran an entire clinic and brought it from the depths of despair to a thriving facility. Now, at a fairly tender age you are running one of the largest hospitals in the nation, in the country's largest city.

"His mother treks all over the world, to right wrongs and help the helpless. She forges onward despite the fact that she has to sacrifice so much in order to do it. You may see Karen staying in Africa as a weakness, but J.C. may very well see it as a strength. That nothing stops her on her quest to help others.

"I'm just saying it's a lot to live up to. Plus by being a survivor he feels a lot of pressure to succeed. I imagine you felt the same thing, at least to a degree." Max looked over, his face reflecting confusion. "When your sister died, you had to be the best, do your best, be on your best behavior, to help ease your parents emotions."

"I get it, I do. But I don't have any particular expectations of him and I don't think asking him to eat three meals a day is too much to ask. And yes, I'm worried about the upcoming court date. I need to know that he won't be able to leave the country. He needs to know that. Right now he needs stability. So, I don't want her to have any fuel to throw at me. I need him to be in the best shape he can be."

"Let me ask you this. Are you worried about how you will look as a parent or how your son is actually doing?"

"Well Dr. Frome, I'd have to say both," Max stated as he turned a left.

Iggy watched him go and then quietly asked, "is she even aware that you have cancer and nearly died? Is she aware that you world is falling apart? Can she help you with any of it?"

J.C. had wandered the hospital hallways all afternoon and wasn't sure where he wanted to go or what he wanted to do. He knew that Georgia and his father had had an argument the night before and that it was about him. He knew that they were both frustrated with his eating habits and while Georgia tried to gently coax him, his father was clearly reaching the end of any and all patience that he had stored up. But J.C. just couldn't seem to care, despite the fact that he really wanted to. He had always been a people-pleaser, wanting to gratify his parents the most, but as the weeks disappeared behind him, he began to care less and less about what was around him and even worse, what they thought of him. The mask he had been clinging to was beginning to slip from his face and he didn't believe that he had any hope of continuing to hold it in place.

He looked through a window and saw a patient in bed looking as if he seen better days. J.C. knew he should move along, but there was something about this man that made him get a closer look, and before he knew what was driving him, his hand was on the door pushing it open. The man's eye's fluttered and tried to focus at this interloper that had somehow found his way into the room.

"Can I help you?" Mustafa asked, confused. He had jumped off of a building and had the misfortune or fortune, of landing on a vehicle. It had most likely saved his life and wasn't sure if he should be thankful or angry about it. Despite having some friends he felt so alone, that nobody could ever know what it was like being him and dealing with what he was forced to endure on a regular basis. He was a man who had no home, no people and lately no hope.

"Sorry. I should leave, but—but I'm trying to do better. Not long ago I did a bad thing. I teased a woman just because she was different and down on her luck and my dad caught me and he was really mad—so I made a new friend and am really nice to her trying to make up for what I did—and now, now I want to help people that I think I can." J.C. finished in a rush before continuing, trying to steer himself back the pleasing child he had been so many months ago. "I'm kinda like a therapy dog. You probably wish I was a Golden Retriever though. Heck sometimes I wish I was a Golden Retriever. But I guess I talk too much to be a dog."

"Wow." He said, shaking his head. "That's a lot. But you are trying to do better and that is what is important. Is your father a doctor here?"

"Yeah."

"Dr. Frome?" Mustafa tried, knowing only the one name.

"No. But I love Dr. Frome. He's really cool."

"Yes he is."

"Did you talk to him? I do. Twice a week."

"You do? Because of what you just said about getting in trouble?"

J.C. shook his head. "Something pulled me in here. It was your eyes. We have the same eyes. Soldiers eyes."

"What is that?" The man asked, believing this boy had some kind of intuitive super powers.

"We've both battled enemies."

"How do you know that just from my eyes."

"Because the same look is in my eyes—you can see it from this side of them too. Haunted. Hunted. My eyes never smile anymore."

"You couldn't have been a soldier?"

"Of course not. But I've seen what battle costs and I know you have too. You're supposed to be grateful to be alive, but it's hard and nobody can understand just how hard it is. It's like the sun is never real and the shadow never leaves."

The two talked for several more minutes before saying goodbye as Mustafa grew tired. They wished each other good luck in their personal wars. But J.C. feeling the need to do at least one more thing to let this man know that he mattered, ran to the cafeteria and bought two puddings and snuck back into the room where Mustafa was napping and set them on the nearby tray along with a small bear that wore a tie dyed red, white and blue t-shirt that he found in the doctors lounge from a previous Fourth of July decoration. Satisfied with his efforts he backed out quietly and tried to figure out what to do next.

He didn't get far when Max found him. "I've been looking for you. You didn't let me know when you got here." He said speaking of the rule that J.C. was to text him when he got to the hospital. "Can we talk?"

"Sure," J.C. agreed knowing he had zero choice in the matter anyway. J.C. had feigned sleep when his father had checked on him the night before and Max had already left for work by the time he had gotten up that morning. He knew there was much left unsaid from the previous night and that he was about to hear it now. He knew ducking out from under the table was not his best move, but he had felt much like a cornered animal that need an escape. He was well aware that it had been Georgia's protective nature that had kept him from trouble last night, but now, she wasn't here and it was time for him to face his actions.

"Look kiddo, things can't go on as they have been. You're not eating, you're not sleeping. We can figure this out. We have to figure this out. There's medication that can help you."

"NO!" J.C. spat out. "I don't want to be made to feel okay against my will!

What does that mean?" Max asked, surprised at his son's fierce reaction.

"You don't get it."

"Help me get it. Help me understand." Max begged, his eyes pleading, needing to know how to help his son.

"It's like I'm looking for what I can't see and I'll never see it if I'm not allowed to experience it. I don't want pills to make me think everything is okay when it's not. You think I'm weak." He accused.

"No I don't son."

"Yes you do. I 'm not weak. Mom thinks I'm strong but I'm not strong either. I just want to be normal and I can't. I want to know what happened because I need to know. Because this event is being held hostage inside me and I feel like I'm being held under its spell but have to pretend that I'm not. I'm not okay, I don't know if I ever will be okay and I feel like I have no say in it. I pretend every day to be okay because I have no other choice.

"I can try and ignore it, I can try and face it, but I can't meet it halfway—halfway doesn't work—I've tried and I've tried, but it just doesn't work. I don't always see it, or hear it, but I can always feel it. It's inside me, it never leaves me. I build walls to keep it out, but it's already inside with me, it won't stay out. It's like a monster that's devouring me. I'm scattered, broken apart, like confetti and I don't know where all my parts and pieces will land."

Max opened his mouth to say something but quickly realized he had absolutely nothing that would soothe either his son or himself, so he just simply pulled him close and held him tight.

 _Play list: Soldiers Eyes by Jack Savoretti_

 _Riverside by Agnes Obel_

 _Emily L: I love how much you are paying attention;)_


	13. Hopeless Wanderer

_I apologize for the delay. The next few chapters should be released on a weekly schedule._

Hopeless Wanderer

"Karen, what are you doing here?" Max asked, unable to hide the shock in his voice as he entered his office to find his ex and mother of his child sitting on the couch.

"Something about a court date this week. My son's father is trying to amend the custody arrangement that we had worked so hard on. Worked to balance it out for both of us. Worked so that J.C. had the best of both worlds.

"You didn't think I'd show up did you?" She asked as Max just stood staring, his face a mask of unreadable emotions.

"Does J.C. know you're here?" He finally said, clearing his throat.

"No. I gave you the courtesy of not showing up at his school or your apartment so that he could question my appearance. I'm assuming you didn't tell him about what was going on?"

Max paused as a wave of fatigue reached out and squeezed him tightly once again, something that was becoming all too common. He just wanted to lay down on the floor and sleep all of his problems away. "No. No, I didn't."

"Relax. I'm not contesting anything. My lawyer is contacting your lawyer as we speak. She's going to ask for a continuance. I have to take care of some things on the West Coast, when I get back, maybe we can talk this through." 

"Fine. It's worth a try. But, I'm not going to change my mind about him staying in this country or Canada. But since Canada has Universal Health Care I doubt you're needed much there.

"Max, I'm not a bad mother."

"I never said you were. It's just that sometimes you focus so much on what's at the end of the road, that you don't realize what you are stumbling over on your way there."

"Are you saying that my son is just a roadblock that I—"

"Mom!" J.C. exclaimed as he walked into the office. He stopped in his tracks as his eyes grew a bit in both size and emotion.

"J.C.!" Karen exclaimed jumping up, brushing past Max on her race to embrace her son. She pulled him in close and both held on tightly for what seemed like an eternity to Max. Neither seemed prepared to let go, but finally they parted. "You're so skinny, like I'm just hugging bones." Max was ready to say something, mount some kind of defense, but he wasn't sure what words would be worthwhile when Karen continued to talk. "I get it though, my appetite hasn't been that great either."

"Are you staying here? In the city?" J.C. asked, speaking quickly, something he did when he was nervous or agitated.

"As much as I'd love to I have to go to San Francisco for some meetings."

"Why?" The boy questioned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, another symptom of agitation.

"That's where the headquarters are for the group that we travel with. We have to discuss some things."

"Like about what happened?" He asked as his complexion seemed to pale, causing Max to take a step closer to his son.

"Yes. Like about what happened. But when I'm done, I'll come back here and we can have a great time together. Maybe your dad will even let you skip school for a day so we can play tourist."

"Yeah! Please Dad?" J.C. asked looking back at his father, his eyes pleading, but they also brimmed with uncertainty.

"We'll talk about it when the time comes."

"Georgia's due soon isn't she?" Karen said looking from her son to Max.

"Yeah. It is coming up fast," Max replied.

"Maybe I can stay with Mom when the baby is born," J.C. suggested.

"Again, we'll wait until the time comes," Max stated.

Karen began to cough and it took Max a moment to realize it was genuine and not some kind of sarcastic taunt or disruption. "Sorry, guy's. Dry air on the plane. Tickle in my throat," she said as she continued to battle it.

"I have a cough drop or mint around here somewhere," Max said heading to his desk.

"I can get you some water," J.C. offered.

"Both would be great." She said battling her cough, her fist to her mouth.

"Can I take a bottle from the doctor's lounge downstairs?" J.C. asked, his voice tight. Despite a brave attempt to hold it in, something was clearly bothering the boy.

"Sure," Max said with a weak smile.

"I'll be back in a few," J.C. said as he disappeared out the door faster than Max expected.

He barely made it out of the office and down the hall to the bathroom where he was quickly relieved to find it empty. He blew out a lungful of air as he leaned against the wall. He inhaled and exhaled deeply trying to get himself under control. Somehow he had faked his way through the reunion with his mother, while his whole being just wanted to collapse. He had held it together, but now his stomach clenched, the sweat beaded on his forehead and his legs went out from under him as he slid down the wall. He struggled for his breath and the tears would no longer be denied. His sobs began their climb from his throat. It had been so long and he had forgotten so much, but suddenly she was there, and with her some of what had long laid dormant—sights, sounds, smells—death. He wanted it to stop—he needed it to stop—make it stop.

"Is San Francisco real? Or do you just need time to readjust to being back in the States?" Max asked Karen after J.C. had run out of the room.

"It's real Max. Just like your cancer is real." Max looked surprised. "J.C. didn't tell me—he never says much of anything when we talk. But I still have enough friends around that hear things. How serious is it?"

"Serious enough. I have a great doctor, strong treatment plan. A lot to live for." Max replied as he glanced at a family picture that sat on his desk.

"He's thin—too thin. Anorexic thin."

"I know. Every morsel of food is a battle. He's in therapy twice a week. I can't seem to figure out a way to fix him." Max said, exhaustion leaking out all over his face. "Believe me, I'm trying."

"Stability. Love. Encouragement. What you're doing."

"What if it isn't enough?"

"It will have to be. I'm sure that it will be."

"What took you so long? Why did you wait to come back? He asked about you all the time. He couldn't understand why you wouldn't come back. He thought you were mad at him or that he did something wrong."

"I'm sorry about that. It had absolutely nothing to do with him. I just needed some to time to deal. I also needed to stay behind and take care of something."

"Something more important than your son?"

Karen paused for a long time before answering. She looked across the room and then back at Max before whispering, "yes."

J.C. was still breathing rapidly, his eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out despite his best efforts. He gulped for some air and forced himself up lunging for the sink. He splashed some water on his face, his eyes were red and slightly puffy, but before he could finish examining them he began to heave and what little was in his stomach ended up in the sink in front of him.

"So, about the amendment? I'm serious about this. You can see how hard his experience has hit him. Daily life isn't easy for him and going anywhere would put any stability, something we both agree that he needs, in jeopardy."

"I can spend time with him here. I get it Max. I don't want a pissing contest. Just look at yourself." Max tilted his head in a questioning way. "You're sick, I don't know what stage your cancer is in, but I know it is well past stage one. You are working ridiculous hours and you are expecting a baby very soon. But somehow with all that you still believe that you are the best option for our son."

"He has a lot of support here. Georgia is great with him. He has his school and friends. He is loved here at the hospital. He loves his therapist."

"And he loves you—I get it."

"Do you? He loves you and was lost—so lost because he couldn't imagine what was so much more important than coming back to be with him after he went through an extremely traumatic event."

"I screwed up—that's what you want me say isn't it?"

"No. I want you to agree that he comes first."

"Because you always put him first?" She asked looking around the office and up at the clock that read 8:15. "You don't want me to leave with him. You want him under your control. Me under your control."

"No. Just him. Him, here in the U.S., but that shouldn't be a problem since I have his passport." Max's expression wasn't a taunting one, but was etched with sincerity.

"Sorry it took so long. There wasn't any water where I thought it would be," J.C. lied as he reappeared trying to look like his errand had been typical. He handed over the bottle of water that he found at a nearby nurses station sitting alone next to a computer. He knew it had an owner that had been forced to abandon it, but it was unopened and after his visit to the bathroom he had run out of time to go in search of one on the lower floors.

"Everything okay? You look a little—tired." Max said, taking his attention from Karen and studying his son.

"Fine. Just tired I guess." He said shrugging off his father's concern.

"Well how about you and me go down to the cafeteria for a soda while your dad finishes up. We can catch up for a few minutes," Karen said, smiling at her son.

"Okay," J.C. agreed, frustrated with the emotions that were still roiling around in his heart, soul and stomach. He wanted more than anything to have time with his mother, but her appearance had battered him in ways he had never expected.

J.C. led the way as they entered the cafeteria and grabbed a tray. "Hungry?" Karen asked causing J.C.'s shoulders to heave up and down. "I'm not sure either. How about pudding, chocolate pudding is your favorite. And some cherry jello? Milk?" She said tossing out whatever caught her eye in the brightly lit display unit.

"No. I'm not thirsty."

"How about a soda? It'll be our secret," she said as she waggled her eyebrows up and down conspiratorially.

"Soda and pudding?" J.C. asked, making a face.

"Yeah, doesn't sound too good. Got a preference?"

"Pudding," J.C. picked. "Dad has a tab here. You don't have to pay," he said as Karen pulled out some bills.

"I'll pay," she said handing off her money as J.C. took the tray that contained his pudding and the small salad that his mother had chosen, along with the bottle of water that he had basically stolen.

He found a table, set the tray down and collapsed on the chair as Karen sat across the table from him. "It seems silly to ask you how you are. But how are you?"

"Alive."

"And I'm so glad that you are. Look, I'm sorry that I didn't come back with you or right after you came home. I, I have reasons, but I suppose that none of them will ever make enough sense or be good enough. I just couldn't be the mother you needed me to be, to be the mother you deserved. I knew that your dad and Georgia would take great care of you. Help you in any way that you needed. I thought maybe just staying away was the best for you."

"What did they do to you?" J.C. asked. "When they took you? What happened to you?"

Karen was ill prepared for that question. A question that she hadn't really answered herself, because the answer was just too painful and difficult to face. An answer that had pushed her to act in ways that she never thought she was capable of.

"It's not for you to worry about. You need to focus on yourself."

"I try, but I can't remember—until I do, then I freeze, my body, my mind just stops. But I haven't remembered much and just that little bit hurts too much to want to know more. But I have to know. I just have to."

"Not knowing is hard. But perhaps knowing will be harder."

"What happened to you?" J.C. asked again, his voice rising. Karen pushed the pudding and the spoon over to him, hoping for the distraction to derail his questions. "I don't want the stupid pudding. I want answers. I want answers from you and I want answers for me." J.C. said hitting he pudding with his hand, knocking the spoon onto the table.

Karen sighed and looked at her son putting her hand over his. "I'm trying J.C.. I'm trying to get better. I'm trying to find a little bit of happiness again. I'm trying to stay focused. I'm trying not to get upset about things I can't control. I'm trying not to overreact to everything around me. I'm trying not to overthink. I'm trying to move forward. All I can do is try. I know that I'm not perfect. I know that I screwed up and I'm so sorry. I want to help you in any way that I can."

"You lied to me." He accused, his eyes narrow and focused.

"What?"

"You said that they wouldn't come back. I remember. You said that they were looking for someone that wasn't at the camp and they wouldn't be back. You lied." J.C. said as he stood up, pushing his mother's hand off of his.

"I thought that was what—"

"You lied!" J.C. yelled, causing heads to turn their direction.

"They wanted drugs," Karen said quickly and quietly. "We didn't have what they wanted, but one of the doctors said we could get some—payment for them to stay away."

"But they didn't stay away."

"No they didn't. I didn't think they would come back so quickly. I had planned to cut our trip short, move on, but—"

"But they came back and killed everyone—and they would have done that even if we weren't there." J.C. said as he pushed his chair back and walked out of the cafeteria his motion tipping the pudding onto its side.

Karen sighed as she watched her only child walk away. She bowed her head as she had once again had failed him. The heads that had popped up and took slight notice of their exchange had returned to their own problems and dissatisfaction with life.

Many wouldn't believe that she had a love for the city and the anonymity that it offered. She was grateful that this was New York and everyone around her had barely noticed the slight kerfuffle. She was tired of being analyzed and was afraid she wouldn't survive this next round during her trip to California. With each journey that she made overseas she was instantly recognized by fellow medical staff. Soon after arriving, the locals quickly bonded with her and called her Dr. K for doctor Karen despite the fact that she told them she was a nurse. They would smile and say 'yes Dr. K.' But here, here she was just a woman who had an exchange with her preteen son and nobody even noticed or cared about. She reached over and righted the pudding. If fixing life was only as easy.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. She had wanted to open up the entire world for her child, wanted him to experience every last drop of humanity. She wanted to make him the hopeless wanderer that had served her so well—to put everything aside other than what was in front of him. To live in the moment. To not succumb to the distant and isolated world that technology had created. He was a natural with people, was gifted with an openness that could not be taught. It was something both she and Max possessed, but J.C., even at his tender age did it even better and without any preface. She needed him to know that he could change the world, should change the world. But somehow it all fell apart, because man had to come reclaim what wasn't his to begin with and in doing so took so much more than could ever be realized.

Her story about the drugs wasn't untrue. They had come for painkillers. The camp had the minimum amount due to the rebels that had in the past, taken to visiting many of the medical camps. Unbeknownst to Karen, the interpreter had given up some pills to the very same faction only two weeks before. The offering had kept them away for a brief time. But they had come back and demanded more. It may have been alright if not for the battle that had taken place several miles away. It had pitted two rebel factions against one another and with injuries the demand and need for the drugs along with actual medical care pushed the group to a frenzy that there would be no coming back from. A frenzy that cost many their lives and the rest nearly everything else.

A part of her still loved Max and she hoped that in some corner, somewhere in his being that he still had some sort of positive feelings for her. They had been so close at one time. Neither was sure whether or not it was love, but it had a certain strength—a strength that had bonded them deeply at one point. She had hoped that even after the split that they would pour that ability into their child and make him even better than they ever were.

Karen longed to go after J.C., to hold him for hours, rock him as she had when he was an infant and toddler, make all the bad things and sadness go away. She loved him with every fiber of her being and after Max had picked him up and left Uganda, she continued to feel his essence in everything around her. He was seemingly intertwined with her entire being. She had always felt that she had two heartbeats within her chest, and one belonged to her son, but lately she could barely hear it, if she could hear it at all. But she hadn't come back with him, and she knew how it must look to Max, to J.C., but she had demons to face, to rein in, to deal with—to kill.

She had only needed two more days—two more days. Before signing the contract to go to Uganda, she had been assured on multiple levels that the area was safe, that the rebels were under control and of absolutely no threat. They had even used those exact words "absolutely no threat." When the faction did show up, she went straight to camp coordinator and told him that she was taking her son and leaving. He tried to talk her out of it, but she was not about to compromise J.C.'s safety. But this was rural Uganda, and one could not just Uber out of the desert to the nearest airport. She could have had a ride the next day, but its origins were sketchy at best, and she wasn't about to risk their safety or possibly be stuck in someone's trunk with her son, who was only ten years old at the time.

But those two days had cost them dearly—had cost them everything. And she would never be able to make it right. She thought back to day when J.C. was six years old and she had woken him early and taken him to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge at sunrise. She wasn't sure what to expect in the way of a reaction, but as he watched the miracle of a new day being born, he whispered that it was magic as he held her hand tightly. Now she was afraid that the magic was gone forever and the blame ultimately laid at her feet, and she wasn't sure how long she could bear that burden.

She loved no one and nothing more than her son. She thought back on his smile, his laughter, his generous spirit and love of discovery. He was a giver, a lover, a miracle of the ages and he was nearly snatched away and it had been her fault. She had been living out her dream and then had made it his dream, but in doing so had she made it all a nightmare?

Max had stayed in his office, wanting to be there when J.C. returned. He didn't want to hold his son from his mother, he never questioned her love for him, he just couldn't understand what had happened and how it happened. Now his job was to protect his child by any means possible. As he picked up a photograph of the two of them at the beach that sat on his desk, he heard a noise behind him that revealed J.C. standing in the doorway, tears streaming down his face. He put the picture down and turned as he held his arms out and welcomed his son into an embrace.

Once Karen had gotten up enough nerve to move, she made her back to Max's office. She just wanted to tell J.C. that she was so sorry for everything and that she loved him so much. But when she saw him sitting on Max's lap, with their backs to her, his arms around their son, holding him and talking to him quietly, gently, she felt as if there was simply no place left for her.

The next morning J.C. had woken up to a text from his mother: _Please know that I love you more than anything. I'm so sorry for what happened to you. I know that you don't believe it, but I tried to protect you. I will explain everything when I get back to the city. Call or text me anytime._ She then left a string of different colored hearts.

J.C. had read it over and over and even took a screenshot of it, but for some reason he just couldn't respond. It wasn't that he wanted to hurt his mother, nothing could be further than the truth. He had felt bad about walking out on her and a big part of him and hoped that she would have come looking for him before she had left. His emotions were all jumbled up and he just could put anything that made sense together. Despite his efforts to believe otherwise, the feeling that gnawed at him the most was abandonment. She may have had the best reason in the world not to take him and leave the camp when the men came. She may have had the best reason to stay behind after he had left the country. But deep down, he just felt betrayed. He had hoped as each day passed that it would change. But several days later, he was still just as lost.

 _ **Sound track:**_

 _ **Repeat After Me by the Kongos when J.C. is struggling in the bathroom after his mother's return**_

 _ **Dead in the Water by the Spelles when J.C. is yelling at Karen in the cafeteria**_

 _ **Extreme Ways by Moby as Karen reminisces in the cafeteria after J.C. storms out**_


	14. I Didn't Do Anything

I Didn't Do Anything

At his desk in his bedroom, J.C. stared down at his health text book as he filled in the answers on his worksheet. They had discussed the flight for fight response in class and as he looked at the example in the book he stopped and picked up his phone. He looked at the messages that his mother had left him. There were two messages for each day that she had left New York. They were encouraging and loving and just short of sickly sweet. It took all that Karen had not to leave sappy voicemails twelve times a day, but she managed to restrain herself knowing that an eleven year old boy would not appreciate such efforts. But several days after her departure, J.C. still hadn't managed any sort of reply.

He sighed as he looked at the picture of the Golden Gate Bridge, low clouds behind it and a suggestion of a visit in the future. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, but he just couldn't make it spell anything out. He couldn't figure out why he couldn't come up with an answer, any answer. It wasn't that he was mad or wanted to give his mom the cold shoulder, it was just that nothing was normal anymore, nothing was right. He just didn't know what to say or how to say it.

He kept thinking that he needed to meet his fears and the attack head-on if he was ever going to have a chance to heal—to move forward. The only way to he could figure out to do this was get his hands on the video and see it all for himself. He felt as if he had tried the flight aspect of dealing with it all, now was the time to fight.

Max always had the laptop with him at work and the times when J.C. slipped up to his office to find it, it was password protected. He had continued to attempt to break the code, but still had had no luck. Max had even caught him in the middle of an attempt once and didn't seem to buy J.C.'s excuse of wanting to play games to pass the time. The eleven year old had no idea how he was ever going to have a chance to watch the video until the night that he did.

It wasn't long, less than ten minutes in total, but it held the key that J.C. had been so desperately looking for. But once that door had been unlocked he was ill prepared for what it revealed. It was if he had been struggling to stay afloat, but now his body, along with his mind just stopped—and he began to sink.

He tried to blink back the horrific scene he had just witnessed, but it was as if his eyes were stuck open and he had no control over them. The laptop wobbled in his lap as he sat crossed legged on the bathroom floor, his back against the wall. All the questions, the wondering had been answered and he had been ill prepared for the consequence. Even in black and white he could see the red of the blood, smell the iron in the air, even without audio he could hear the screams, and despite it being in the past he could still feel the terror in his veins. And the tears that had once been hesitant were now finally falling. Suddenly everything had caught up to him at once and his body and mind had no idea to do with this onslaught. As if on autopilot he set the laptop down on the floor next to where he was sitting and climbed into the bathtub, still fully clothed and turned the water and on and then pulled up the lever for the shower. And everything rained down on him.

As the water hit him so did some of the memories, no longer were they on the screen, but in his head, racing, bouncing, crashing, crushing. The heat, the flies, the screams of a language he didn't understand. His friends, Claude, a small boy, his buddy, who only moments before was smiling, laughing. The sight of his own blood, but feeling no pain. His pain wasn't important, it didn't matter. The desire of death—a desire that was never granted.

The first sob was so fierce that it came out silently, pulling his breath in so violently that J.C. hit his head on the wall of the tub. As he exhaled he realized that sound had escaped and he clamped his hands over his mouth. He pulled them tightly as if he was preventing a leak and that was exactly what he was doing. He didn't want to be heard, they had all been right, he hadn't been ready. He went in search of this on his own and now he had to deal with what he found. But he was becoming frantic, twisting turning, trying to keep it all inside when everything inside of him demanded to be let out. He looked for a nonexistent escape and had no idea what to do when he couldn't find it. This is what they had tried to protect him from. But now this bomb of truth and reality had gone off inside him and the damage although not yet calculated, was already clearly immeasurable.

Max woke up with a start and immediately wondered why. He noticed his light was still on and realized that he must have fallen asleep while he had been working. He blinked several times and rubbed his tired eyes. He then reached over to close his laptop and discovered it was gone. He heard the shower going and turned to check the clock and saw it was just after midnight. It was then that he jumped up and ran.

Just as he opened the door he saw the shower curtain being pulled from its hooks and heard a guttural scream escape despite his son's desperate attempt to muffle it. He raced over and reached into the downpour only to be rejected as J.C. pushed him away.

"J.C. look at me. Look at me," Max ordered but nothing in his son's actions or demeanor changed. "Jason Christopher," he snapped causing the boy's eyes to widen as if it was the first time he noticed his father had entered the room. "Look at me son. I'm going to turn off the water. Okay?"

J.C. didn't agree or disagree he just continued to bite into the shower curtain, his eyes wild and barely recognizing what was around him. Max first turned off the water as J.C. sat, still dripping. "I'm going to take the shower curtain from you and then put a towel around you and get you out of the tub. Okay?" Max asked gently.

But J.C. was beyond comprehending even the simplest directions. Max gently pulled the curtain away and threw it towards the other end of the tub as he grabbed a bath towel from the bar next to him and wrapped it around his shivering son. He hadn't even realized until just now that the water that had been pouring down was ice cold. Max somehow managed to maneuver J.C. out of the tub and pulled him into his lap as he sat on the bathroom floor. As he reached over and pulled another towel from its spot he saw the laptop, he turned back and wrapped another layer around the boy. And it was there they stayed until J.C. went slack in his arms.

Max sat with his son, rocking him as he had so many years ago when he was a baby. He knew that he couldn't heal his son and his greatest fear was that nobody could. He was grateful to feel the corner of his phone as it fought the constraints of his pocket. He pulled it out and prayed for Iggy to answer. He suddenly realized he had absolutely no idea what time it was and didn't know if it being the middle of the night was a blessing or a impediment. But when a sleepy voice answered he carried the question no further. After a brief conversation both men raced for the hospital.

Iggy paced the hallways outside of his office, unsure if he should go to the E.D., wait in his office or go to the back entrance where Max would most likely enter with J.C.. As he contemplated what to do he saw Max carrying J.C. in his arms, the boy's body completely limp.

"Is he conscious?"

"I think so. Maybe. I don't know—he's unresponsive." Max said.

"Tell me again how you found him?"

Max did and along with the fact he was certain J.C. had watched video. "I had been working on some files in my bedroom. Georgia is in Connecticut with her folks so I had the computer in bed with me and I must have fallen asleep. I had been so careful—I had been careful," he repeated, his eyes glossy and nearly as lost as his sons.

"And he hasn't spoken or moved since then?"

"No. It was like he just wilted in my arms. He hasn't responded to me at all. He won't even sit up," Max said, clearly terrified. "I had to carry him to the cab and to here. What does this mean Iggy? How bad is this?"

Iggy was careful with his words because this was bad, very bad. "Let's get him to a room. I already checked the intake ward and we have several open. Follow me."

Max did as instructed and carried J.C. into a small room that was considered a safe room with padding on the walls, a protected window and bed that was made from molded plastic with a thin mattress. Very little to hurt oneself on. Iggy ran off to get chair for Max to sit on, but Max didn't wait, instead sliding to the floor, his back against the wall, his son in his lap. It was only then did he realize how little J.C. weighed. He pulled up the still wet sweatshirt and saw just how little of his son was left.

Iggy came back with a behavior aide and a small set of scrubs and a towel. "Let's get him into some dry clothes."

"Yeah, sure," Max agreed, his voice having little to no emotion as he reluctantly gave up his grip.

The aide, clearly adept at changing unwilling participants made quick work of getting J.C.'s pants off and getting the dry, light green scrub pants on him. The boy, whose eyes were open saw nothing and felt nothing. Max had never felt so desperate in his entire life. It was as if J.C.'s body was the only thing alive. He was breathing, his heart was beating, but his very soul had exited leaving a vacancy that was already crushing Max.

"Max has he been delusional?" Iggy asked, snapping him out of his stupor.

"I don't think so."

"Suicidal?"

"Um, no?"

"Has his anxiety been worse? Has he been sleeping?"

"I don't think so. I don't know, I don't know," Max said beginning to sob.

The aide, named Aaron pulled J.C.'s shirt over the boy's head and began to towel him off. But before he could prepare to put the new shirt on J.C. came alive. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" He screamed so loudly, his piercing shout hurting the ears of those around him. "DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T TOUCH ME!"

"Okay, J.C.," Iggy said quietly, gently pushing Aaron back and away from him. "Nobody is going to touch you. Can you tell me your name?"

But if J.C. heard him he didn't indicate it. His mind was swirling around, nothing made sense. It was as if he had fallen from a dream, or perhaps into one. "I WANT TO WAKE UP!" he shrieked.

"Do you feel like your asleep? Tell me what you feel?" Iggy asked quietly as J.C. shivered. "Can we put this shirt on you, to help keep you warm?"

"No!" J.C. yelled kicking and screaming when Aaron had taken a step forward.

"Max, how much does he weigh?"

"I, I don't know. Not very much," he said as he looked at J.C.'s protruding ribs.

Iggy stepped over to Aaron and told him a dosage for the drug Haldol. The aide disappeared as Iggy sat on the floor next to J.C.. "Can you tell me what you feel?"

J.C. squeezed his eyes shut. He felt as if he was on a roller coaster, riding up the hill only for it to suddenly drop from beneath him. His stomach turned and twisted and threatened to explode. His head was on a ride of its own, swirling around and around. He heard voices whispering to him, the sun was in his eyes, a man putting his finger to his lips and telling J.C. to be quiet, screams, more screams, Claude grabbing his hand—Claude grabbing his hand!

"LEAVE HIM ALONE! DON'T TOUCH ME. NO! STOP! STOP! STOP! DON'T TOUCH—STOP!" J.C. screamed at the top of his lungs, his eyes still closed, his legs kicking, his arms flailing.

"Jason, can you tell me what's happening? What do you see?" Iggy asked as Aaron came back in the room with a loaded syringe. But J.C. only continued to battle his unseen enemy. "Restrain him please," Iggy reluctantly said as Aaron moved around J.C. and with a practiced hand slid him into an embrace that rendered him immobile and unable to hurt anyone, including himself.

Iggy slid the needle in as Aaron continued to sit on the floor and hold the agitated boy until he finally surrendered to the drug and went limp, much like he had been when he first came in. "Thank you Aaron. You can go check on the other kids now." Iggy said taking the aides place and cradling J.C..

Max had been sitting on the floor against the wall, tears sliding down his face. "What now?"

"Well, the drug will keep him down for a while. I'll move him over to the bed over there and restrain him."

"Are the restraints necessary? I'll stay with him, plus he's under sedation."

"Protocol Max. I can't risk him waking up and hurting himself or anyone else. Even if you are here, he could get the jump on you. He's unstable and lashing out. He can't climb out from his delusions, he's enraged and I honestly don't know what he is capable of right now."

"Will he ever," Max paused to clear his throat, "come back?"

"You know I can't answer that. He came in suffering from catatonia, showing signs of stupor. But he quickly went into the excited state. His flailing and kicking at an unseen attacker. He was stuck in his head, his experience had taken control and he couldn't stop it.

"I'm not going to lie Max, he is a very sick little boy."

"What do we do?"

"Help him, support him as best as we can. But a lot of it is going to be up to him and what he is capable of at this point."

Before they lifted him into the bed, covered in the thin, plastic covered mattress, Max sat and held his son, feeling every nook and cranny that rose up to meet him. He had tried to be patient with J.C. and his eating issues, fearing that any push would only make things worse. But recently the patience had worn thin and his demands that the boy eat a better diet had taken over. But nothing had changed, J.C. had only dug his heels in even further. Max's instructions had fallen on a child who simply wasn't capable of changing the habit that he had clung to since coming home. If he had tried to deal with it sooner or tried a different tactic maybe they wouldn't be here. Or then again, maybe they would.

The light glowed through the window, muted as if it feared the repercussions of entering such a place. But it was enough to bring life to Max's eyes as they fluttered and then stayed open. He looked around, uncertain at first as to where he was. He sat up, pushing off the thin mat that had been brought in and set next to the bed where J.C. was laying. He had hoped it had all been a nightmare, but now there was no denying that it was all true, it had all happened and now that the pieces had been scattered they had to figure out how to pick them up and put them back together—if that was even possible.

J.C. began to stir, pulling at the restraints that held his arms and ankles. Max had fought the leg restraints, but Iggy explained how much damage a patient could do when they were able to slam their legs down repeatedly, so Max acquiesced.

"Hey, buddy. Daddy's here. I'm right here," Max said gently, brushing the hair from J.C.'s forehead as Aaron walked in.

"I'll get Dr. Frome," he said spinning away.

Max watched him go, unsure if he was still there from last nights shift or was back again for today's shift. He then returned his attention to J.C. who was moaning as he attempted to pull his hands towards him. Max wasn't sure if he was dreaming or trying to wake up—or both.

"J.C., it's okay. You can open your eyes, I'm right here," Max encouraged.

J.C.'s head whipped back and forth and then his eyes flew open as he screamed. He began frantically pulling at the restraints. "Leave me alone! Let me go!"

Despite Max's attempts, there was no soothing the boy who repeated his mantra and actions as Iggy finally came into the room. "J.C.," he said loudly and firmly. "J.C. look at me. Do you know where you are?"

But J.C. just ignored him and continue to demand to be let go. Iggy had Max step aside and looked down at his patient. "Jason! You are safe. You're at the hospital with me and your dad. What was the last thing that you remember?"

The question finally quieted him as he paused his demands long enough to look around. "They're dead, they're all dead."

"Okay," Iggy said, preparing to continue when J.C. spoke again.

"I saw them, I saw it all. There was no reason, no reason and they did it anyway. I saw them do it."

"What did you see J.C.?"

"They're dead. I saw them die. They all died. I didn't do it."

"Of course you didn't do it."

"I saw who did. They said run, but I didn't run. I didn't run. I saw them all. It's not a game, it's real. They're all dead. It's my fault."

"It's not your fault."

"It is."

"How is it your fault?"

J.C. grew quiet and looked Iggy in the eye. "Because I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything," he said his voice getting louder. "I didn't do anything and they can do it again!"

Days went by and J.C. spoke little, ate little, preferring to tip his tray over and go back to looking out the window. A small cocktail of drugs had been found to give him some peace. He only awoke from nightmares two or three times a night instead of five or six. The edge had been taken off from his frantic pacing and actions. Never one to bite his nails, they were now down to the quick. Iggy had taken the case personally with the assistance of one of his top coworkers and a resident who had gotten J.C. to eat blueberry muffin the day before. The three of them attempted at different treatment plans, talk and art therapy along with playing games.

Iggy had had him draw pictures since he didn't want to talk. The first day yielded a big sun in the middle of the page, the second day, a sun with a machete and the third, a sun, a machete and lot's of red blood. "Can you tell me what happened that day?" Iggy asked as he slid the tray containing J.C.'s breakfast over to him. J.C. promptly pushed it back. "We talked about this J.C., if you don't start eating, we'll have to put a feeding tube in."

"I'll pull it out." J.C. responded, staring at a spot on the far wall.

"Then we'll have to restrain you. I really don't think you want that. I know you feel like you're not in control of anything, not that day, not now and this is the one thing that you can have power over. But you can't get well if you don't eat."

The only thing he had eaten regularly was chocolate pudding, each time holding it up in the air and acting as if he was making a toast. In his mind he was back with his mother in the days before it all fell apart and instead of storming out he had stayed and they had eaten together.

"Tell me about the machete." Iggy said pulling the apple from the tray and handing it to J.C. He half expected the boy to hurl it against the wall, but instead he took a small bite from it.

"He had a machete."

"The man that hurt you?" 

J.C. nodded. "He hurt Claude."

"I'm sorry that happened. Do you want to draw Claude?"

Now, apparently was the right time for the fruit to fly as J.C. threw it against the wall where bits and pieces splattered around. "I'll take that as a no then," Iggy said as Aaron walked in. He had been J.C.'s constant behavioral aide. Continuity was important for all patients, but most especially ones who had endured a traumatic event and had trouble trusting anyone. He often worked double shifts and the only time he was gone was when J.C. slept. A bond had formed and Aaron knew he had become an integral part if there was hope of any kind of healing.

"If you want applesauce you just have to ask," he said pulling two small packs of applesauce from behind his back. "Plain or cinnamon?" J.C. just stared at him. "You pick or I pick for you."

"Cinnamon." J.C. said as he crossed his arms and looked away.

"Fine choice. My personal preference as well." He waited as J.C. took his time unfolding his arms and finally took the foil covered small bowl and plastic spoon.

J.C. looked up as Aaron stood by and waited. "I can eat it myself."

"Of course you can. But I have to take the trash out and I want to add that to the top of the pile. So eat up."

J.C. shook his head. He knew what was going on, but quickly ate the offering and handed the trash back to Aaron.

"Okay, for snack do you want plain raisins, strawberry or watermelon flavored?"

"Watermelon."

"Oh, I got you this,"he said grabbing a small jug from the tray he had set aside when he first came in. "Chocolate almond milk. Doc said you don't like dairy much, other than the chocolate pudding. I don't either. It makes me gassy," he said leaning close to J.C. as he handed it to him.

"Do I have to drink it now?" J.C. asked with slightest of smiles.

"I'll get rid of this stuff and swing by and get it in a few minutes. Sound good?" J.C. nodded as Iggy silently applauded the young aide.

Aaron cleared the doorway and opened up the small jug of milk. He took a big drink of it and wiped his mouth off on his arm. "I don't suppose eating this cereal would be too much to ask for?" Iggy tried.

J.C. looked at it, sitting in the bowl, still dry, the dairy milk sitting in a container next to it. He grabbed a handful of the small O shaped cereal and shoved it in his mouth and chewed. When he was finished he looked up. "No more nagging about eating until snack time. And no feeding tube!"

"It's in your hands. You eat, you don't eat, you call the shots."

Max came up to see his son as often as he could. Sometimes they would talk, sometimes Max would read to him or they would play a half-hearted game of Uno. Georgia would visit as well. Bringing puzzle books for him, homemade cookies and little snack bags full of crackers, pretzels and tiny orange dusted goldfish that supposedly tasted like cheddar cheese, she knew he wouldn't eat them, but somehow still felt that she had to bring them. If she couldn't nourish him emotionally, then by God she was going try any other way that she could. He didn't say much, they would look out the window, talk about the weather he could no longer experience. She tried to be comfortable with the silence but J.C. knew that she wasn't. But that was the gauge he used to know that she did really love him. Every day she would come, every day she promised to come back, every day she kept that promise.

There were some days that were better than others, but healing isn't a straight line. J.C. spent many hours in the 'safe room' which had padded walls, a lot of stress balls lying around and was place where patients went when they were angry, hyper and were better left alone to work out whatever was bothering them. It was here that they could kick the walls, throw the stress balls, scream or just sit in private and cry. Of course there were cameras mounted high on the wall, but they were easy to forget. But as Aaron watched his young charge have a complete meltdown throwing his body against the wall over and over again he knew he had to intervene.

He unlocked the door and looked across the room as J.C. hurled his body against the wall again. "Hey! You know that isn't allowed."

"It's my body!" J.C. yelled.

"Yes, but it's my responsibility, and I'm not going to let you hurt it."

"Why?" J.C. questioned. "Because you'd get in trouble?"

"Because I don't like to see people I like, get hurt."

"It's too late. I'm already hurt."

"I know buddy. I know. But we're trying to figure out how to help."

Without warning J.C. ran the several feet across the room and flung himself into Aaron's arms and hung on for dear life. Aaron received the boy and held him quietly. He knew enough to stay away from platitudes and promises of being strong enough and that it would all work out. Kids weren't stupid and they hated lies. And J.C. was smarter than most.

J.C. finally pulled away and stepped a few back. "Are you ready to come out now?" Aaron asked.

"No. Not yet," J.C. replied.

"Okay, but no more using your body as a battering ram. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed.

Aaron left, locking the door behind him nearly walking into the resident Dr. Perron. "What's going on with him?"

"Just dealing with it all in his own way in his own time. I only interfered because he was coming close to self-harm."

"I saw that. Did you say anything to him when you held him?"

"No. Look, I may not have a degree, but I have taken classes and have had training. I do my job well and I want nothing more than every child in this place that was handed a shit hand in life to get through it and rise above the actions that put them here."

"Just be careful of your bond with him." She advised.

Aaron shook his head as she walked away. She had been on the ward for three weeks and felt she knew it all. Even though days were rough, he knew this was his calling. He had had his own struggles when he was young and it was people like Dr. Frome and his associate Dr. Haven, which as an amazing name for a child psychiatrist, that he survived his own demons. Now he had to give back lest the monsters from the past come back for him.

After Aaron left, J.C. sat in the corner with his arms wrapped around his knees. The day before he had heard Dr. Frome telling another doctor that he wasn't able to put his experience into words yet and because of that he was acting out in physical ways. The goal was for him to tell what had happened to him in his own words, then they could help him cope with it. But to do that he had to recognize what had happened to him and he just wasn't ready for that. He looked up at the camera and then his eyes drifted off, focusing on nothing as he sat and sat and sat. His mind drifted as it sifted through the sins of the evil that had happened that day, the betrayal he had felt. His mom had left him, left without him. Yes, his rational mind knew that she had been forced into the truck, he could still hear his name on her lips, the shouts that found his ears, but his heart couldn't understand how he had been left behind to die.

How could anyone be so uncaring of the pain they caused, so unseeing of the chaos that they created, so hardened that lives simply didn't matter anymore and it was somehow their right to take whatever they pleased, even if it meant forever. It just didn't compute in J.C.'s mind and the swirling thoughts continued to go around and around. Around and around for hours, hours lost on the never-ending ride that he just wanted to get off. He knew what had happened, the memories had forced their way into is consciousness and the video still danced in his head—he saw, he saw it all. But he still could not yet recognize it.

 _ **Sountrack:**_

 _ **Politics of Life by Daniel Pemberton—sung in Welsh –when J.C. watches the video.**_

Lyrics : In Welsh- Gafflwn Dihenydd, o'r fuddugol yn wiriol sydd. Ni fydd neb yn ein Drechu, Falch ydy ni i drochu, Traed o flaen i'r Annwn, mewn y gwybodaeth fe godwn ni

In English- We cheat Death from his rightful victory. No one can defeat us we are glad to plunge feet first into hell in the knowledge that we will rise

 _ **You are my Sunshine –SOA version (Son's of Anarchy) when Max holds J.C. at the hospital.**_


	15. Silent Tears

Silent Tears

The recent goal had been to get J.C. to attend a group therapy session. Thus far he had refused, preferring to spend the time alone in his small room. The door was never locked and always had to be open, he had a mattress, covered with a sheet along with a pillow and a blanket. He was checked on every fifteen minutes by someone and if he left his room his name still had to checked off every fifteen minutes. He had wandered out into one of the day rooms but had no interest in pretending to interact with anyone so he grabbed one of the 200 piece puzzles and retreated back to his room and dumped the contents on the floor and began to separate them.

"No group again today?" Aaron asked as he came by with a small jug of chocolate almond milk and the baggie of chocolate chip cookies that Georgia had left earlier.

"No."

"How come?"

"I wouldn't know what to say. I'm afraid nothing will come out. Because I'm not strong enough to say anything." J.C. said as a tear wound it's way down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away as he turned his head from Aaron.

"Hey, people cry not because they're weak but because they've been strong for too long. Your battle is my battle. We fight together. Your dad fights with you. Georgia fights with you. Dr. Frome fights with you. Dr. Haven fights with you. That's a lot of people in your corner. You're a warrior."

"What if I can't battle? What if I'm not a warrior?"

"You looked fear in the face. Month after month. Day after day. But yet, you never run. You never hide. You always find a way to get back up. You are unbreakable. You are a warrior. Sometimes memories leak out of our eyes and run down our cheeks and that's okay. We have to let it go."

"Did you have to let go of stuff?"

"I think we all have. It takes some of us longer than others." Aaron said.

"I didn't run, but I fell apart. And that's why I'm here."

"It's okay to be here. You have to start your journey somewhere, what better place than here? And you didn't fall apart, you were simply knocked down and now you are beginning the process of getting up."

Aaron knew he probably shouldn't be breaking the rules by having a heart to heart with J.C. but Iggy had told him that he could talk to the boy since they seemed to connect. Just that he should be careful with what he said, make no promises, be uplifting and never share anything personal. But sometimes rules were made to be broken.

"It's not too late to go to group today."

"I can't. I'm not ready. I'm weak."

"Listen to me. Never assume that loud is strong and quiet is weak. Though you may hold your sword in a shaky hand. I see the demons you are slaying. Carry on warrior, you are stronger than you realize."

"I'll go tomorrow."

"I hope you do."

"Aaron?"

"Yeah buddy?"

"You're pretty smart."

"Nah. I just listened to someone wise a long time ago, when I needed help."

Later in the day Aaron shared the conversation with Iggy. "What if you encourage him to talk about something he loves or something positive that has nothing to do with what happened to him?" Iggy suggested.

"I can do that. Do you think he'll go?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. You have made a strong bond with him and that's a good thing. I'm not going to discourage it. But tread lightly. How are you classes going?"

"I'm down to one online. I'm working double shifts to save money for the future. I haven't really decided if psychology is for me or not."

"Oh, I think it is."

"Look Doc, I know you've been busy with the two new patients that came in, the suicide attempt and the violent six year old. I don't mind helping any way I can."

"And that's why psychology and healing of the mind is right for you."

"Oh Zeke, from security came up with a book for J.C. but the nurse wasn't sure if he was allowed to see him or not."

"I'll get back with you on that. I know J.C. and Zeke are close so it could be a good thing. But I want to talk to J.C. first."

The next morning J.C. was sitting in one of the common rooms drawing a machete with blood dripping from it.

"Ah, the latest work of art. Can you tell me about it?" Iggy asked.

"Knives cut, machetes chop."

"How about we make a deal?"

"What kind of deal?"

"You try group today."

"I said I would, but I don't want to."

"What if you could talk about something other than what happened to you? You don't have to talk about that you know."

"What do I talk about then?"

"Whatever you want. A trip, you've been on lots of them."

"Yeah and the last one ended so well."

"Good point. Talk about school, your favorite subject, your favorite book, your favorite movie. Talk about a friend."

J.C. sat and contemplated for a moment. "If I talk about a friend what do I get in return? You said you'd make me a deal—what do I get out of the deal?"

"Half hour with someone who wants to see you."

"Who?"

"Zeke has come up to see how you've been doing. He's wanted to see you, but I wasn't sure you were ready. But if you go to group, I think you'll be ready to see Zeke."

"He'll think I'm a freak."

"He absolutely doesn't think you're a freak. He's brought up cupcakes, books, puzzles, word search books, match box cars. He's left them for you in your cubby by my office. When you earn points you can have your pick of the items." Iggy explained, speaking of the reward system that was used for cooperative behavior. "He just wants you to know he misses your face."

"I guess I can believe that. I've haven't beaten him at checkers in a few weeks."

"So, can I count on you for group?"

"Maybe."

"I just want you try and I know that you can."

"I'm glad that you're sure."

"Look kiddo, you have to start sharing."

"Why? What good will any of it do?"

"Because as much as you matter, other people matter too." J.C. looked up, uncertain. "If you don't heal what hurt you, you'll bleed on the people that didn't cut you. Later, we talk about that picture." Iggy said smiling as he picked up the artwork and walked out of the room leaving J.C. to think about his last words.

Max and Georgia continued to grind through each day. The sun came up and they filled their days with the necessities that life demanded. Georgia prepared for Luna's arrival, unsure of what state their family would be in at the time of her birth. She texted Max regularly to keep him close and check on his mental status. But much of the day she thought of J.C. and his very difficult personal battle. She wasn't sure what to do, think or how to act. She knew that if she stopped visiting him they would drift apart and she feared they would never reconnect with any real substance. So she went to see him each and every day. The awkward silence stretched between them. She was afraid of saying the wrong thing and he was afraid of everything. He looked so meek and uncertain, it was as if his spirit, the spirit that she had loved, just disappeared, leaving a black hole behind that swallowed up anything substantive. It scared her, but she was sure it scared him even more.

Max, Max spent even more time at the hospital than he had before. He poured all of his energy pretending his son wasn't in the psychiatric ward, while at the same time thinking of him every minute of the day. When he left the hospital, he felt as if he was abandoning J.C., leaving him to devoured by his experience and the nightmares that it brought. He would find himself in that ward, standing alone, lost, wondering how this would all end. Sometimes he would stop and speak with Iggy, sometimes visit with J.C., sometimes he would watch his son from a distance and sometimes he would silently cry.

 _ **Soundtrack:**_

 _ **Red Hands and Black Deeds by Shamans Harvest**_

 _ **As Tears Go By by the Rolling Stones**_


	16. Reality Leaves a lot to the Imagination

Reality Leaves a lot to the Imagination ~ John Lennon

Two weeks into his stay, his eating slightly more stable, with Aaron's encouragement J.C. began to attend the group therapy. The first three days he refused to share, but the fourth day, with a new arrival sitting in the back corner putting together the very same puzzle that J.C. had accomplished the day before, he spoke. He told of a friend he had made at school and how he had felt proud of his actions in doing so. The resident, thrilled with effort made sure to tell J.C. as much. She was happy that Dr. Frome had been in the room to hear the breakthrough. She had also noticed the new patient in the corner, a suicide attempt, had hung on every word that J.C. had uttered. It was that presence that changed the course of not only the day, but unlocked a part of J.C. that he had kept unto himself with no intention of every letting go.

"Okay, what's the big news?" Max asked as he gasped for air from his jog to the psychiatric floor. He had gotten word that Iggy needed to talk to him as soon as possible. It was one of the rare times that Max dropped everything and turned his attention elsewhere.

"Have seat," Iggy said waving his hands at the couch that sat against the wall in his office.

Max looked around. "Is J.C. around?"

"He's putting a puzzle of the Empire State building together with Zeke. And eating a small bag of pretzels," he added smiling. "I have some news."

"Good I hope."

"Overall, I think so."

"Overall?" Max asked confused.

"I think your son did something amazing, but I don't believe I'll ever be able to know for certain."

"Tell me," Max encouraged.

"He actually shared in group therapy today. Not about what happened to him, but about a friend he made at school. He was pretty proud that he took this girl, Paulie, under his wing."

"Yeah, Paulette, he befriended her after an incident at the hospital."

"What happened at the hospital?" Iggy asked as he leaned forward.

"There was a homeless woman sitting in a waiting area and J.C. and his friend Meredith were teasing her. I caught them and grabbed J.C. and stopped him, explained how unacceptable his actions were. The next day, he went to school and made this friend, Paulie. I think it was to make up for his actions the night before.

"He really went all out. I don't think her home life was that great so he gave her some clothes he found in the lost and found bin, shared his lunch, took some of Georgia's shampoo to give her and he even stole the glasses donation bin in the eye clinic because she needed glasses."

"Wow. Sounds like he did go all out for her."

"He did. I really believe it was because he felt so bad at victimizing the woman here at the hospital."

"Did the friendship continue?"

"Yes. Until he came here anyway. Why?"

"Did you or Georgia ever meet Paulie?"

"No. I told him to bring her in so we could her an eye exam, but he said her aunt wouldn't bring her or sign the paperwork. I told him just to get her here and I'd figure something out, but there was always some reason that she couldn't make it. I think Georgia invited her to dinner several times but for one reason or another she could never come."

"I think there's a reason that you never met her." Max cocked his head questioningly. "Max, there is no Paulie."

"I'm sorry?"

"Paulie doesn't exist."

"What do you mean she doesn't exist?" Max demanded.

"You said you knew a girl named Meredith?"

"Meredith Dunn? Yes, her mother was here for cancer treatments. She was eventually moved to hospice and died recently."

"Well, Meredith is a patient here. She slit her wrists several days ago."

"Oh no," Max replied, stunned.

"She seems to be reacting well to the scheduled environment and treatment we have offered her so far. I have high hopes at a full recovery, mentally as well as physically. She was in group therapy this morning. She wasn't ready to share yet, so as we often suggest to newcomers, she sat in the corner and quietly did her own thing so she could listen and hear how the session works."

"Okay," Max said.

"It was the first day that J.C. shared and she heard him talking. She had no idea he was here, but recognized his voice instantly and listened to what he shared. Afterwards she came to me and told me Paulie wasn't real. That this girl doesn't exist."

"I don't understand," Max replied.

"I believe he knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't delusional, not in a technical sense, he seemed to know on a certain level that she wasn't real. He would sit at the lunch table alone, the place he told you they spent the most time, but he would stay quiet, knowing he shouldn't talk, knowing she wasn't real. But, according to Meredith, he would leave half his lunch behind, across the table where another person would sit. He even left a pair of pink glasses there.

"She also remembered one day she saw him get on a bus that went the opposite direction he normally walked. She didn't think too much about it but when she asked him about it he said he was visiting someone who lived in a less than ideal situation.

"She also saw him give away one of those drawstring backpacks that apparently held some clothing and shampoo in it to a homeless teenager that hung out near the school."

Max just sat silent, trying to understand what he was being told. "You're telling me that she isn't real. You're sure?"

"Max there is no Paulie or Paulette at the school. Over 1000 kids and not one with that name. No, Polly's either."

"I met him after school the day he supposedly met her. He told me all about her, sat with her at lunch. Told me about how he felt Meredith had abandoned him after her mother left the hospital. It was kind of a typical kid move, love 'em and leave 'em, but that doesn't make it any easier on the one left behind. Especially one dealing with the fact that he had no idea when he would see his mother again. His new relationship with Paulie had given him something to focus on. Something positive."

"Exactly, but unfortunately Paulie was never real, she was only a figment of his imagination. In trying to deal with his mounting stress and trauma he came up with this short term solution. If he helped someone else he would be fine, it had worked with Meredith but when she pulled away he needed to fill that void. Her moving on without him was what pushed him over the edge. Suddenly he didn't have anyone to focus on, to help guide through their problems and without that he had to focus on his own issues and just wasn't ready for that. I didn't see it, but J.C. was fracturing further, he couldn't hang on much longer, it was weighing on him and he was going to snap, so in an effort to hang on he created someone he could help. He twisted everything to fit what he needed it to. He could put aside his own demons and atoned from his sin all at the same time."

Max looked lost, confused, but Iggy was certain he was taking in every word.

"First he had Meredith and he was able to focus on helping her with her time in the hospital, but soon he was no longer needed in that capacity and he didn't know what to do with himself. He began to slip away, I sensed it when you were helicoptered in, he was losing his grip. So in an effort to maintain, he made someone up who needed his help that way he wouldn't focus on a reality that he couldn't handle."

"But he didn't remember what had happened to him in Africa."

"He was beginning to. He so badly wanted to see the video and couldn't understand why it was such a problem. I had spoken with Dr. Mayfield, and together we had decided it might be best to let him view a few minutes at a time and then I would work with him after each session, letting him control how much he saw. We were out of options and ideas, but even then I didn't realize how dire his circumstances were."

"Neither did I. What kind of father doesn't even notice his child falling apart?"

"You're human Max. Sometimes I think you forget that. Now, is there anything in his past that might have pushed him towards this specific belief. Often when patients manufacture stories and ideas, at least some of it is from something that has happened or that they believed has happened."

"I don't know," Max began. "Wait," he began as his eyes got wide. When he was with his mother they had gone to Egypt, it wasn't on the itinerary so I asked her about it and she said it had been an impromptu stop. A girl, J.C.'s age had an inoperable brain tumor, Karen could only offer palliative care. She said J.C. struggled with the fact that they couldn't help her more, couldn't fix her. They were told they could call her Pollyanna which I'm sure was short for something they couldn't pronounce.

"They lived in poverty, Karen had brought some warm clothes, blankets, backpack, paper, pens, markers etc." Max looked up. "The tumor affected her vision and she needed strong lenses to be able to see anything. Karen somehow made it happen."

"Were they pink?"

"Yes. J.C. suggested the color. He said girls liked pink."

"Max, he couldn't help Claude or anyone else that was killed so he made up someone that he could help. His eating patterns—he was trying to control some part of his life, but..."

"But it got to be a huge deal and he felt that control being challenged when I lost patience, pushed him to eat," Max said, his voice quivering.

"The more it was challenged, the deeper into the illusion he fell. But on some level he knew it wasn't real and that's why he never spoke to her. But he could make her real to you and Georgia.

"Actually, he did an amazing job. He was en-route to a full psychotic break. It was a miracle that he didn't collapse into one. The memories were peppering him constantly and he was trying to grasp what they meant— there were pieces and the pieces didn't make sense, but he could make sense out of this. It could have been so much worse. One of my first cases was a boy J.C.'s age who was witness to a neighbor from across the hall having his his brains blown out because the neighbor couldn't handle his loud music anymore. The boy didn't speak for months, he simply sat in the corner, rocked and sucked his thumb. It took over a year to get a fraction of that boy back. J.C. created a world that allowed him to survive. And Max, survive he did. Just watching him walk around and talk, forming sentences is a miracle in itself." Max swallowed hard and nodded as his eyes glistened.

"I'm not going to lie, his road is going to be a tough one and his experience may very well, well it will most likely affect him the rest of his life. It will be what he measures everything against. But you need to know just how strong he is and has been. I suspect his mother is just as tough as you are and his gene pool is with him. Much of this journey he is going to have to take on his own. But being there for him when he needs us will be imperative."

"Yeah, of course," Max said clearing his throat. "This was my fault. I had been so damn careful with the computer. I had it with me or in need of a password. How could I have fallen asleep and left it up? How could I have been so careless?"

"I remind you once again, that you're human Max. Because you were exhausted. Because his desire to know what happened trumped everything else. Do not put this on yourself. He needs you to be strong and confident. He is going to count on your strength every day for the rest of his life. He needs to know that you will be there for him, now and forever. He will undoubtedly stumble, fail, and we hope that he will reach out for help."

"What happens to people that endure this much trauma in life?"

"Some get stronger, they falter, but always get back up and charge ahead to make things better for themselves and others. Some, well they have a lot of issues. They never heal, they lose sight of themselves. They carry a ball and chain with them the rest of their lives. And some, are mix of the two. J.C. is young and is surrounded by love and support. He has a wonderful chance to go on and share that greatness that we know he has inside."

"What do we do now?" Max asked.

"I want to talk to J.C. about Paulie. I need to know if he is continuing the delusion." Max nodded. "Why don't you stay for now. If he wants privacy, I'll have you leave. But having you here might make him feel more secure."

One of the nurses escorted J.C. to Iggy's office where he saw Max sitting on the couch across from the doctor.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked.

"No. Not all," Iggy assured. "Come on in."

"Hey kiddo," Max said patting the couch next to him. "How are you feeling?"

J.C. shrugged. "I don't even know anymore."

"Can you tell me about Paulie?" Iggy asked.

"Why?" J.C. asked, wary of the question.

"It's okay, just tell me about her," Iggy encouraged.

"No! I can't. I hate it." He said sneaking a sideways glance at Max as he stomped his foot.

"What do you hate, J.C.?" Iggy prodded.

"Myself. What I did."

"Tell me what you did."

"You won't understand."

"Then help me to understand."

"You can't!"

"Explain it to me." Iggy gently prodded.

"I can't!" J.C. screamed causing Aaron to appear in the doorway of Iggy's office. But the doctor waved him away.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," J.C. apologized, breaking down into tears. His entire body shuddering with the effort.

Max slid over on the couch and pulled his son into an embrace and held him tightly, tears streaming down his own face. "I love you so much. And I am so sorry that I haven't been able to help you."

"I feel like I'm all filled up with bad stuff that I can't even breathe. I thought I could breathe if I got everything off my chest, but it didn't work."

"And you thought by watching the video and remembering you would get everything off your chest?" Iggy asked gently.

J.C., still in his fathers embrace, nodded, his head rubbing against Max's chest. "I'm broken and I don't think even you can fix me." 

"Listen to me J.C.," Iggy began as Max loosened his grip on his son so he could look up. "You have been broken. You have been knocked down. You have been defeated. You have felt pain that most couldn't handle. But you are handling it."

"No I'm not. I won't do what you want me to even though I sometimes want to. I just can't. It's like I'm unraveling and I can see parts of myself that have fallen away and I can't make them fit again."

"I know that some days are better than others. It's just like your dad with his treatments, he has some days that are better than others. But you have to keep going and I know that you can. Some days it will be one step forward and two steps back, but other days it will be two steps forward and only one back."

"It sounds slow."

"It will be, but we have to start somewhere. No matter how bad things are right now, no matter how how stuck you feel, no matter how many days you've spent crying, no matter how many days you've spent wishing things were different, no matter how hopeless and depressed you feel, I promise that you won't feel this way forever. You will keep going and your dad will be right by your side. And I will be right by your side."

Max turned so he could look at his son whose gaze was now aimed at the floor as he absorbed what his doctor had just told him. Max gently tipped his son's face upwards by cupping his chin. "I've seen a lot and learned a lot in my experiences in this life. I've learned that some of the kindest souls I know have lived in a world that was not so kind to them. That some of the best human beings I know, have been through so much at the hands of others, and they still love deeply, they still care. If that isn't something to be in awe of, I don't know what is. And son, I am in awe of you. Every day I am in awe of you."

"You shouldn't be," J.C. said straining against Max's hand trying to turn away.

"If you can't see or look for the bright side or the end of all of this, then I will sit with you in the dark." Max said.

"As will I," Iggy agreed. "Can you tell me about Paulie?" He said trying to move the conversation forward.

"I messed up." J.C. replied.

"How did you mess up?"

"I made her up. Okay!? I made her up. She wasn't real. She was never real." J.C. yelled as he crossed his arms and looked towards the wall.

"Why did you make her up?" Iggy asked gently, happy that J.C. understood that she was a figment of his imagination just as he had thought.

"Because I'm crazy. Don't you get that?"

"We don't use that term and even if we did, you kiddo, are not crazy. Your mind needed a crutch to get through the days and your mind came up with one. You were in a desperate situation and you found a band-aid, something to get you through. It was impressive—amazing actually."

"Really?" J.C. asked with suspicion in his voice.

"Yes really. You needed to look at something or someone else to take the focus off of yourself. Memories were beginning to seep inside you and you couldn't stop them, so instead you ignored them by looking at something else."

"But she wasn't real."

"She didn't need to be. You took part of a past experience and made it fit your current needs."

"The girl in Egypt," J.C. sighed. "Her name was so long and had so many vowels that we were told to call her Polly or Pollyanna. Mom said she had tumor in her brain that was growing and making her really sick. It was killing her.

"I asked why they couldn't take it out, but she said she wouldn't survive the surgery. We brought stuff to make her comfortable and happy."

"Did you feel good about helping her?"

J.C. shrugged. "I guess. But we couldn't fix her so what good was it? A few coloring books and markers. A blanket and pillow. I wanted to help her more—make her better. But we couldn't. What good were we?"

"But you could help Paulie, the girl you made up."

"Of course I could. She was all mine." He simply stated.

"But you knew that she wasn't real, didn't you?"

"I guess. But sometimes I just had to pretend that she was."

"You left food behind. A pair of glasses, clothes and other things didn't you?"

"Maybe somebody could use them."

"J.C. you saved yourself by helping others, by helping Meredith, by helping the nameless people in honor of Polly. Your pain is eased by giving to others, much like another guy I know." Iggy said looking over at Max.

"Like my mom too."

"And like your mom."

"But I'm still here. I'm still cracked into a million pieces."

"Pieces that can be put back together in time." Iggy explained. "Did you notice the girl sitting in the corner during group time? Did you know who she was?" J.C. nodded that he did. "But you told the story of Paulie anyway? With Meredith in the room?"

"I didn't think she was real," he whispered speaking of Meredith.

 _ **Soundtrack:**_

 _ **Imagine by John Lennon**_


	17. Life in Pieces

Life in Pieces

What was once wet was now sticky. The sun had disappeared and the heat along with it. The drone from the flies had quieted. His eyes were gritty, his arms ached, his neck burned. His throat was so parched he couldn't even swallow. His lips were swollen. He finally convinced himself to open his eyes fearing what he would see. He looked up into the dark, black sky, filled with stars that stared back down at him. He managed to croak out one word, "Daddy," before he passed out again.

J.C.'s eyes snapped open as he quickly sat up, twisting the blanket around him as he did so. He whipped his head around and realized he was in his room at the hospital. He clawed at his neck to find it dry with only a raised marker to remind him that his dream, though not real, had come from something that had been.

The dream had been so vivid it seemed as if he had just relived it, and in a sense he had. As he sat up he began to realize just how true to life the dream had been. He remembered waking up all those months ago, in the dark and quiet. He had somehow ended up on his back. He was still holding Claude's hand and he knew even in his haze that he shouldn't be, that he couldn't be, not in this position. But still he didn't let go. He thought of how he was going to die in the dark, alone, yet surrounded by those that had already left him and this world. How he would never get to say goodbye to his mom. How he would never get to say goodbye to his father. Of course he had said goodbye before he left for the trip, but not a forever goodbye. And as he looked up at the stars he wished with all of his might that Max was looking up at those very same stars and somehow across the miles they could reunite and let go, all at the same time. He needed to be rescued, but there was no one left, he was alone and all was lost. He was alive and nobody else was. He couldn't rescue them and now there was nobody left to rescue him. He was the one star still shining in a sea of darkness. But his light was dimming quickly. He was just as much of a ghost as everyone around him. As the memories hovered and eventually let go, he drifted back to sleep, his blanket held hostage in his fist as he hung on for his savior.

Iggy had spoken with J.C. at breakfast, asking him why he hadn't thought Meredith was real. At first the boy stayed quiet, poking at his oatmeal, but then he finally looked up and spoke. "I needed Paulie so bad that I made her up, I thought maybe that I needed Meredith so bad that I made her up too."

"But you didn't, she was really in the room."

"But I wasn't sure. Don't you get it, I'm not sure of anything anymore."

"I know you have more uncertainties than answers, but we're going to get through this, we will figure out the answers."

"But what if the questions never stop?" J.C. asked, his eyes pleading.

"Then we'll keep searching for answers."

Iggy wasn't completely satisfied with their earlier talk. He felt as if J.C. was drifting away and afraid to grab on to anything that was offered in the way of assistance. He couldn't yet figure out how to get him to believe in any method of healing. His mind was still whirring with possibilities when he walked into the common room and saw J.C. in the corner at a small round table working on a 500 piece puzzle depicting the ocean with rippling waves, the shoreline with a sand castle sitting abandoned, a shovel and bucket left behind and the moon rising on the horizon. He had put together nearly every puzzle in their library as it was the only thing he seemed to make a connection with. Thankfully Georgia had been bringing in new ones with nearly every visit to add to the collection and keep J.C. somewhat calm. Despite a minor breakthrough here and there, J.C. was still very much trapped in his nightmare. Until he could attempt to make sense of something so heinous and nonsensical he wouldn't be able to move forward. He needed to recall and speak of the incident from the inside and not from what he watched on the computer screen. It was the only way he would ever be able to free himself from it—if that was even possible.

Iggy stopped near the doorway and watched the boy work as he fished for the pieces to begin to fill in the frame he had already assembled. The moon had been put together and now he was snapping pieces of the sandcastle and bucket together. The rest, well the rest was going to be much more difficult as there was no differential in the color to tell one piece from another. He went over and spoke with a ten year old girl who had been brought in a week before after her mother found her eating Draino crystals to make herself clean after being sexually assaulted by a neighbor. She was busy coloring a page full of wild flowers in pastel hues. She was doing much better, but he still feared that she had a long road ahead to rediscover her self-worth. As he admired her picture J.C. had stood up and upended the table holding the puzzle, scattering pieces all over the floor, including the parts he had already put together. Within seconds a behavioral aide popped in and looked to Iggy for direction.

"J.C., what's going on buddy?" Iggy asked, keeping his voice calm.

"That's my life he screamed," pointing at the mess on the floor. "I can't figure it out. I can't find where to put all the pieces, I don't where they go. It's too hard."

Iggy nodded for the aide to take Lara out of the room along with another boy who had been reading on a beanbag in the corner. As they were ushered from the room Iggy walked closer to J.C. who stood over the scattered cardboard pieces.

"So what do we do?" Iggy asked as he righted the table.

"I. Don't. Know." J.C. said through clenched teeth.

"Let's figure it out," Iggy said, remaining serene. "We can stand here and stare at the mess and do nothing, but I don't think that will get us anywhere. What else can we do?"

"Walk away." J.C. answered still staring at the floor.

"Oh, I don't think that would get us very far. I think, that together we could pick up all of the pieces and even though it might take a lot of time, we could figure out where they all go. Both of us together."

"I can't." J.C. said now staring across the room at the window.

"Well, I can't do it by myself. It's your puzzle. But I bet the two of us can do it together. Are you up for it?"

"No!" J.C. screamed kicking at the chair behind him, causing Aaron to step into the room to see if his assistance was needed.

"Do you need the quiet room?" Iggy asked waving Aaron off. "Time to calm down?"

"No!" J.C. yelled again.

"Then tell me what we need to do," Iggy offered.

"I can't," J.C. repeated. "I can't do it now."

"Well, how about the two of us pick up all of these pieces and put them in the box and you can take it to your room and when you're ready we can get it out and work on it?"

"What if I can't do it?" 

"Then we will both keep trying until we can. Come, help me pick up all the pieces." Iggy said squatting down and corralling the pieces. "Grab the box," he instructed J.C. who was standing there watching his doctor clean up his mess. "Okay, then I will," he said when the boy didn't move. But before he could stand all the way up, J.C. grabbed the box bottom and sat down on the floor near the puddle of puzzle pieces.

They both scooped and picked up as many pieces as they saw, dumping them in the box. J.C. crawled across the floor to grab a few wayward pieces. "What if we don't find them all?" J.C. asked.

"Let's keep looking then," Iggy offered.

"Can Aaron help?" J.C. asked.

"Sure he can."

J.C. hopped up and went into the hallway where Aaron had been loitering nearby, listening for anything that might signal the need for his assistance. "Can you help us?"

"Sure I can," he said heading towards the J.C. and the common room.

The three looked, crawled and felt around for all of the lost pieces. "What if we still missed pieces?" J.C. asked.

"I'll let the crew that cleans in here tonight know that there might be some pieces on the floor. If they find any they'll take them to the desk and you can get them tomorrow." Iggy explained. "Why don't you grab the top and secure it and take it back to your room."

J.C. did as he was told and carried the box in his arms as if it were a baby. Once in his room, which only held a mattress on the floor with one pillow and a sheet and blanket, he set the box right next to his bed. He had enough space on the floor to assemble the puzzle when he felt he was ready. The room was never locked and he wasn't even allowed to close the door. No other patients were allowed in rooms that weren't their own, unless there was a specific invitation and an aide was aware of it.

 _Three days later_

"What are you doing?" J.C. screamed. "You can't be in here. Don't touch that! You touched it!" J.C. screamed upon finding Meredith in his room, snapping a puzzle piece into place.

The two had acknowledged each others presence silently, but had yet to talk to each other. Meredith wanted J.C. to make the first move and he either hadn't believed she was really there or he had yet to decide what he might say to her. So other than a few nods and one wave by Meredith they hadn't connected.

"I—I'm sorry. I thought I was helping." She stammered.

"This isn't for you to do. This is for me and Dr. Frome. Not you!" He said shoving her as she stood up.

"Jason!" Iggy yelled as he came into the room. He had been following J.C. back after a quick chat. "We don't hurt each other."

"But she touched the puzzle. That's our puzzle not hers!"

"I understand that."

"She's not supposed to be in my room," he added.

"I'm aware of that as well. But you need to calm down so we can talk and not yell."

"NO!" J.C. screamed, getting in Meredith's face.

"J.C. you're not leaving me any choice," he explained as Aaron entered and with a nod from Iggy grabbed J.C. in what was called a safety hold, where the aides tried to pin the patient close so they couldn't hurt anyone else or themselves.

"I don't want to go," J.C. screamed out, but it was too late and he was too agitated to remain in his room. Aaron took him to the quiet room and locked him in and went to the camera to watch his charges' meltdown.

"Dr. Frome, I'm sorry. I just thought that I could put a few pieces in. There's so much that's the same I thought he'd never get done. I was so excited to tell him that I got two pieces." Meredith explained.

"I'm sure your effort came from a good place. But you know that you aren't allowed inside anyone's room without permission."

"Yeah, I know. But I thought it would be okay. I just wanted to help."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said as her shoulders began to heave and a sob escaped.

"Do you want to change your answer?" Iggy asked softly, putting his arm around her shoulders. She nodded yes and let Iggy take her to his office to calm her down, while J.C. raged just a few doors away.

Back in Iggy's office, Meredith situated herself on the couch and clutched a pillow to her chest. "I'm so sorry. I just thought, well, I guess I thought I was helping."

"I know," Iggy said gently with a tight smile that caused little creases around his eyes giving him a kind look. "I have no doubt that your heart was in the right place. But it is important that everyone follow the rules, which include not going into another person's space without permission. It is necessary for everyone to feel safe and to have their own space. It's the first step in getting better. Think about how you would feel if J.C. came into your room and changed something."

"I know. I guess I didn't realize." She said as she tugged at the bandages around her wrists.

Iggy took a breath and looked back at Meredith who continued to look down at her self-inflicted injuries. "You have to understand that the puzzle represents something important to J.C., more than just a puzzle to put together. The puzzle is a metaphor. Do you know what that means?"

"That it represents something," Meredith guessed.

"Very good. The puzzle is like his life and the pieces are his emotions. Everything is all jumbled up and he can't see the big picture. He is trying one day at a time, one memory at a time, one piece at a time to put it all back together. When you put those pieces in for him, it threw him off, made him feel as if he wasn't in control and may have lost out on part of his healing. It is important for him to do this on his own or with the help that he chooses when he chooses. You took that away from him."

"I didn't mean to. I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't. I know you didn't want to hurt him. But that is why the rules are in place because so often we can't see the battles that others are facing. Give him time, I'm sure that he will come around."

"What if he doesn't?"

"I think he will," Iggy said winking.

But Meredith wasn't so sure. She had seen something in his eyes that she had never seen before. It was different than the hurt he had shown when she rejected him, different than the angst he had shown when he had gotten in trouble with his father, different than anything she had ever seen; and it scared her. His eye's clearly reflected the depths of his anguish and she feared there was no bottom to his pain.

"How long did it take him to calm down?" Iggy asked forty-five minutes later.

"He raced around, kicking and punching the walls for ten minutes. Then he finally collapsed in a heap in the corner and began to cry. I went into talk to him and he hit me in the face with a stress ball. I gave him ten more minutes and went back in, but he wouldn't talk. So, I took him back to his room where he has been sitting on his bed and staring at the wall. But he's been quiet."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Oh, doc." Aaron began, causing Iggy to stop and look back at Aaron as he raised his eyebrows. "He has fingerprint bruises on one of his arms. The left, I think."

"Hmm? Okay, thank you Aaron. Why don't you get out of here. It's getting late."

"Are you sure? I can't wait a little longer, make sure he's going to stay calm."

"It's up to you, whichever you prefer."

"I'll give it a few minutes. Just take out and Netflix for me tonight."

Iggy nodded and moved towards J.C.'s room where he found the boy still sitting on the bed, staring at nothing. "Hey kiddo. What do you see?"

"Nothing. I like nothing."

"I can imagine. You know at some point we need to talk about what you saw on the video, what you remember."

"First you didn't want me near it, now you want me to talk about it."

"I think you need to. I believe it's the only way to start healing from what happened to you. You need to talk it through to understand and go forward."

"I can't, it will hurt too much. The pain sits here," he said his fist bumping into his chest. "And here." He said touching his head.

"There was a poet way back in the thirteenth century named Rumi, he once said that the cure for pain is in the pain. Do you know what that might mean?"

"That to get through my experience and memories I have to remember it, live through it again."

"Yeah something like that. Like if you have a bad cut, it won't help if you ignore it. It might hurt to clean it up and get stitches and a bandage, but in the end, that is what will help you heal.

"We have to figure out a way to let you leave that in the past as best as you can. You won't forget it, but we want it way over there, not sitting right here," he said putting his finger in the middle of J.C.'s forehead. "If you don't work through it and leave it in the past where it belongs, then it will effect your future."

"Yeah. Sounds easy," J.C. replied.

"I never said it would be easy. That's why I'm here with you."

"And Aaron?"

"And Aaron. And many others. Even Meredith, who was truly trying to help you."

"I know," he sighed grabbing at his arm absentmindedly.

"How did you get those bruises," Iggy asked looking at the small bruises. "Who hurt you?"

"Nobody." He said as he put his fingers from his right hand onto the marks on his left forearm.

The ward was kept warm as they preferred the kids in short sleeves as sweatshirts could cover up so much damage.

"You did that? Why?"

"I'm just trying to hang on," J.C. stated as he mimicked hanging on to himself. "It's just really hard sometimes, so I have to hold tight."

 _ **Soundtrack:**_

 _ **Burning Skies by Daniel Spaleniak (J.C.'s dream)**_

 _ **You Are Not Alone by the Eagles when he is being assured that he is not alone**_

 _ **Hurt by Johnny Cash as J.C. deals with everything**_


	18. Falling Apart

Falling Apart

A couple days later J.C. sat with Iggy in his office as he absentmindedly pushed a truck along the floor, upending it and putting it through a dramatic crash. Iggy noticed it looked a lot like the truck that had been in the video carrying the men who ultimately changed J.C.'s life forever. "If you could tell the men that hurt you anything, what would it be?" Iggy asked as he looked over at his young patient.

J.C. sat quietly, pulling the truck close to him as he sat down. He finally looked up, his eyes looking at something so far off, it clearly wasn't in this room or even on this continent. "What gave you the right? What gave you the right to do what you did! You had no right! You had no right! We were good people! We were helping—we were helping and you killed us anyway!

"They all died!" He finished, his voice rising, looking down at the truck and throwing it across the room.

"Who died J.C.?" Iggy asked.

"All of them! All of them died! All of them but me. I should be dead too. Why am I alive?"

"I'm sure that is a big question for you. One that we will never have an answer to. Do you think you can accept that fact?"

"No! No I can't. I should be dead. They should have let me die. I wanna be dead. I just want to die!" J.C. screamed.

J.C. had maneuvered himself to his knees and was throwing his upper half towards the floor. He was screaming and clawing at the carpet, almost like a rabid animal. Iggy got down on the floor and put his arm around J.C. to try and calm him, but the eleven year old was having none of it. He threw his head back and pulled his legs out from under him and began to kick them.

It was only when Iggy looked towards the door that he had finally noticed Max standing there. He appeared to be frozen, uncertain what to think or do. Nothing moved except the tears that had appeared and raced down his cheeks. Accustomed to watching the man spring into action, Iggy was momentarily bewildered that the man seemingly couldn't move. But before he could say anything, Aaron came charging in with Dr. Haven right behind him.

Aaron took over restraining J.C. while Dr. Haven administered a mild sedative. Iggy looked down at his counterparts who nodded that they had it under control, and took off after Max who had ran off only a moment before. It had only been a few seconds, but by the time Iggy got down the hall Max had disappeared, the elevators closing, going downward. He smacked at the button, but decidedly couldn't wait and headed for the stairs. Breathless and worried he made his way to Max's office, finding his boss hunched over, his back to the door, quietly sobbing.

"I'm sorry you heard that Max. I can't imagine what that would be like—to hear your child wish that they were dead—hyperbole's aside."

Max tried to take a breath and speak but couldn't manage to get the words out.

"He just had a setback. Remember when I said it would be a long journey? One step forward two steps back. Today he went backwards, but it's not all that bad."

"Not that bad!?" Max asked, finding his voice. "Not that bad? Well it sounded pretty bad to me. My child just tried to dig through the carpet while he screamed that he wanted to die. Here I am trying like hell to stay alive while he wants to die. What's even the point of working so hard to survive if I'm just going to lose him?"

"That's exactly why you have to fight to live—because your son needs you in his journey back to health. If you give up so will he.

"Believe it or not, what happened wasn't a bad thing."

"Not bad? Is that right?" Max asked.

"He is so confused, angry and frustrated for reasons nobody should ever have to deal with. But it's hard to put all of that into words, to understand what he is feeling. But he is getting it out, all that rage that he has been holding inside of him is coming out, and that my friend is a good thing. Tough to watch, but all in all a good thing.

"It's baby steps, it's ugly, it's difficult, it's necessary. This experience has followed him around, tormented him and he has felt helpless. But now, he is fighting it and he needs to know that you are fighting too."

J.C. hadn't talked too much about his father's illness, but Iggy knew it was on his mind. He would mention if Max looked good or tired during their visits. He noticed if Max had lost weight or seemed distracted.

"What if I can't do this?" Max asked. "What if I'm not strong enough?"

"My friend, I have no doubt that you can, you are and you will."

But Max only wondered just how much of himself had crumbled along with his son.

The sedative took the edge from J.C.'s behavior and he was led back to his room where Aaron had him sit on his mattress and he sat on the floor, legs crossed looking back at his charge.

"Feeling any better?"

"From saying I want to kill myself? Did you know that I made up an entire person just so I wouldn't lose my mind and go crazy? Doc said I was broken and by making her up it helped me fix the parts that were falling apart." Aaron just gave a soothing smile. "Did you hear me? I made up someone and believed that they were real!"

"I heard you," Aaron said quietly. "Can I tell you a story about someone who wishes that they made someone up to help them?" J.C. shrugged so Aaron continued. "One day there was a little boy, around your age and he heard two people yelling at each other in the hallway of his apartment building. You see the two men always were fighting about how the one turned his music up too loud and the other man couldn't sleep.

"But one night, instead of yelling something different happened."

"What?" J.C. asked as he moved from his mattress down to the floor and sat crossed legged across from Aaron so that their knees touched.

"The complainer knocked on the door and asked that the noisy man turn down his music. As usual the noisy man refused. In fact he went back inside and turned it up even louder. And when he came back to the door to smirk and show off his action, the complainer shot him in the face.

"The little boy lived across the hall and had heard them yelling and the music get louder. Even though his mother had told him not to open the door and watch he did anyway."

"He saw what happened?" J.C. asked.

"He did. And then do you know what happened?"

J.C. thought about for a moment. "He got shot too?"

"No. But maybe he wishes that he had. What he saw scared him so much that he just stood there. He just stood there when his mother came over and saw what happened and when she tried to pull him into the apartment. He just stood there when she called the doctor and then the ambulance. He just stood there for days and then weeks and then months when they tried to help him.

"You see, he had shut a door between him and the outside world. He had been so traumatized that he slammed that door shut and couldn't open it. But maybe if he had made up a friend they would have helped him open the door like your friend did."

"What happened to the boy? Did he get better?"

"It took a long time. Nearly a year. But finally with a patient doctor who wouldn't give up on him, kept knocking on the door until the boy opened it.

"Do you know who the doctor was?"

J.C. thought about a minute before guessing. "Dr. Frome?"

"Yes it was. Do you know who the little boy was?"

"No."

"It was me. I struggled so much from what I witnessed and it wasn't nearly as awful as what you endured. It's like you have superpowers. I am in full admiration of you kid."

"I don't have superpowers. I feel like I just want to give up. My step-mother has this set of dolls, where you open it up and there's another one inside and they just keep getting smaller."

"Russian nesting dolls?"

"I guess. Anyway I feel like that. Each memory I have I lose more of myself, who I was and I'm becoming smaller and smaller and one day I might just disappear. I don't know how to fix it. I don't know if I can fix it."

"Sometimes rock bottom will teach you lessons that mountain tops never will. That's what Dr. Frome told me once."

"But what if you can't climb to the top? Do you stay at the bottom?"

"No. We will all climb up. Sometimes we have to climb up each day, just get through life. Some mountains are bigger than others, but we can never stop climbing."

"But what if I can't?"

"Oh, you can. Damaged people are strong because they know how to survive. Look J.C. we are all broken, but that's how the light gets in. Ernest Hemingway said that. Do you know who that is?"

"He's a writer. There's a book by him on our bookshelf at home."

Aaron smiled. "You have a super powers and a super brain too."

"How's our boy?" Iggy asked after he motioned Aaron away from J.C. and into the hallway.

"Better. I told him my story and I think that might have helped. But, he's in a dark place doc and there's plenty to be concerned about. Are you moving him due to his threat?"

"I have no choice. If a patient gives any implication of self-harm I have to follow protocol."

"He isn't going to go quietly."

"Then I guess I'll have to figure out the right words to explain it to him then."

J.C. looked up when Iggy came inside his room. "I'm fine."

"Are you? You were pretty upset."

"I just got mad. But I'm not mad anymore."

"I see. I can imagine that you have strong feelings towards the men that hurt you and all the other people."

"Yeah." J.C. admitted as he plucked at his blanket. "But they didn't hurt the others, they killed them. They don't get to breathe, eat, smile, live."

"I know," Iggy said quietly. "It's not fair. It's beyond awful."

"Do I have to go under death watch?" J.C. asked referring to what the patients called suicide watch. "I know what I said, but I didn't mean it."

"I'm sorry buddy, but I don't have a choice in the matter. I can't pretend that you didn't say it."

"But I didn't mean to," J.C. repeated.

"Maybe not, but I can't take that chance. I have to follow the rules."

"Maybe can I go for just a day?"

"Minimum two days kiddo."

"Is my dad okay?"

"You saw him?" Iggy asked, not realizing that the boy had been aware of his presence.

J.C. nodded. "He ran away. I made him mad and he ran away."

"You didn't make him mad, Jason. It was just hard for him to see you so upset and he had to step away."

"He won't come see me now will he?"

"Of course he will. We just have to give him some time. Plus he's still working."

"But he had a look in his eyes I had never seen."

"What look?"

"I don't know, like he was so sad that he couldn't even cry."

"I talked to him, he is sad and he did cry. And he will come see you."

"Do you promise?" J.C. asked.

"I promise," Iggy assured hoping that Max understood his role in his son's health was crucial. He never made promises to his patients, most especially when someone else had to deliver them, but this just seemed to fall out of his mouth without his consent. He would have to track Max down and explain how important it was to J.C. that they talk tonight.

As Iggy made his promise Meredith appeared at the doorway. "Will you let me come and say I'm sorry for what happened the other day?" She asked.

"I think that would be okay as long as J.C. agrees." Iggy replied. "J.C.?"

"Okay," he whispered as he looked at the floor.

Iggy stepped away giving them privacy, but told Aaron to linger in the area in case either one got upset.

"I'm so sorry J.C.," Meredith began. "I swear I didn't mean to hurt you. I—it's just that I felt so bad for what I did to you and I didn't know you were here and then there you were and I want to help you in anyway that I can. But I made things worse."

"I know you tried to help. Sometimes I just get so mad and I can't stop it. Before I got here, I wanted to yell and scream but I couldn't and now I think that it all got saved up and is coming out really loud and mean. I didn't mean to push you."

"I deserved it. I shouldn't have touched your stuff."

"How come you're here?" He asked, tilting his head much like his father frequently did.

"I fell apart. I wanted you. I needed you and you weren't there. I had let you go, no, it was more than that. I had pushed you away and now I needed you and you weren't there. Then I realized how selfish I was being. I was just so lost. My dad just sits around and drinks and stares at the wall. I thought it would be better when my mom died, because at least there would be an ending. But I was wrong and nobody cared that I was wrong or that I was dissolving in sadness and hated everything, including myself.

"My so-called friends thought I should get over everything in a few weeks. They didn't even care about what I was going through. I looked for you. I knew I had been mean to you and had no right to ask you to listen to me or help me in any way, but somehow I knew that you would."

"But I wasn't there." J.C. interjected.

"No."

"Because I was here."

"And I was selfish. I never realized your pain. You had been acting weird. Leaving your lunch behind, sitting alone, looking across the table like you wished someone was there, like you needed someone to be there. But I wasn't and only when I needed that same thing did I come looking for you.

"That's why I told Dr. Frome about what was happening. I needed to help you. I had to get it right this time."

"How do I know this is real?" J.C. asked. "How do I know that once you pull your life together you won't leave me again?" It had been the very same thing that Paulie had feared when she was inside his head. Nobody wants to be betrayed once, but twice would be unbearable.

"I'll just have to show you. It's all I can do. I needed you to rescue me, but I also made sure that you never had the opportunity."

"Your pain was just that deep." J.C. sighed, understanding how emotional turmoil made no sense and the path often became too crooked to comprehend. His eyes softened, giving Meredith hope that the boy she knew was still in there.

"It was like I wanted to cut it out of me. I couldn't see past it." She continued, locking her gaze onto her friend.

"It was like you wanted cut everything out of you or cut you out of everything." J.C. added.

"I went looking for you and you weren't around. I asked around and found out you hadn't been at school for days. I figured you went on another trip with your mom. And it really bothered me that you didn't even say goodbye. But then I realized I didn't deserve a goodbye. I felt so bad and I couldn't even tell you that.

"I just got more depressed. Worried that I had hurt you, drove you away. And I missed my mom so much and my dad was a mess and I was a mess and the next thing I knew," she finished holding up her wrists. "Everyday I found that all I wanted to do was die—well more like I didn't want to be here. It's a hard place to be—you don't want to live and you don't want to die. I didn't think I could do it. I get squeamish when I get a paper-cut. But suddenly my hand was shaking and I was bleeding, it didn't seem real, then I just got really tired and woke up here."

"Can I see?" J.C. asked.

Meredith pulled one of the bandages away showing him a horizontal cut.

"You did it wrong. You have to cut up and down, then the blood doesn't clot so fast."

"It scares me that you know that."

"You aren't the only one with more pain than you can handle."

 _ **Soundtrack:**_

 _ **Goodbye John Smith by Barnes Courtney**_

 _ **Fade to Black by Metallica as Meredith and J.C. talk**_


	19. Running on Empty

Running on Empty

As Iggy checked J.C. into the more secure area he signed the necessary paperwork and told him he would be back before he left for the day to check on him.

"Will my puzzle be okay while I'm gone?" J.C. asked, his eyes full of concern.

"Yes. We will lock the door and it will be safe."

"Promise?"

"Promise," Iggy assured knowing this was a promise that he could definitely keep.

Max had taken several minutes to pull himself together after Iggy had left him. He just felt so helpless and it wasn't a feeling that he liked or was used to. What kind of father was he to abandon his son and what kind of father was he to not know what to do or how to help him. He felt as if a piece of himself broke off when he saw J.C. losing control and screaming that he wanted to die. There were things seen, that just could not be unseen. And he would carry that scene for a very long time if not forever. It would be a constant battle to push it back into the recesses of his mind only to have it resurface and to have to push it back again. He had faith in Dr. Frome and his staff, but he felt so lost not being the one leading the charge to help his son.

His phone chirped and looked down to see the text from Iggy saying that J.C. really wanted to see him before he left the hospital for the night. What did that say about him, that he had to be reminded to check on his own son.

He had failed in epic proportions that day and wasn't sure if he had the energy to fix what had broken. He felt as if his life wasn't even recognizable anymore. But then he imagined that J.C. felt the very same way.

Max threw himself back into leading the hospital and had been busy for about an hour when Dora found him and told him he had visitors in his office. She seemed a little sheepish when he pressed about their identities. "Who are they?" He asked again.

"They said they were J.C.'s grandparents." Max hesitated as he tried to focus. "Actually they used his proper name of Jason."

"They said they were Jason's grandparents?"

"Yes. I asked them to wait while I located you, but they said they would find you or your office themselves and then proceeded to demand the front desk's attention, then security's attention etc., etc. I finally grabbed them and took them to your office. I'm sorry, but they were insistent."

"I'm sure they were. Did they look pretentious, arrogant, and walked like they had a stick up their ass?" Max asked.

Dora tried to hide her amusement. "Yes?" She answered with uncertainty.

"Karen's parents. I'll go up and talk to them." He said as he began to walk away. Five steps later, he turned around and looked back. "If you don't hear from me in a half hour—page me."

"You got it boss," she said making note of the time.

Max had met Benjamin and Elizabeth Austin twice. The first time went well when they believed he was the knight in shining armor that was going to put a ring on their daughters finger, and play right into the plan they had had for her all along. He was a doctor and with that would come all the trappings of their dream life for her consisting of larges houses on golf courses, foreign sport utility vehicles, and private schools for their perfect grandchildren. But the second time he was met with scornful stares when it was realized that there would be no union, no fantasy lifestyle, nothing that they could brag about to their country club cronies and fellow judgmental church goers. He not only wasn't going to marry their daughter, but was the father of the child she was carrying out of wedlock. They viewed it all as a disgrace and hadn't spoken to Max since the discovery of his part in their daughters downfall. He couldn't wait to see what they wanted now.

He walked in to see their backs as they picked up and analyzed the pictures he had sitting on his desk. "I think he favors Max," Elizabeth was saying.

"But he has Karen's hair and eyes." Benjamin stated.

"Her eyes are darker. His are hazel. At least I think they're hazel," she said putting her glasses on and pulling the picture closer.

"They are hazel. And they're beautiful just like he is." Max said, startling them, his heart beginning to thud in his chest. "What brings you here?"

"Max. You look well," Elizabeth said. Max shook his head as he thought about how little she knew or paid attention to as he was clearly too thin and his coloring had been taking on a rather gray pallor as of late. "Medical Director of such a big hospital—impressive, even though it's a public hospital."

"I would think they could give you a bigger office and a better view," Benjamin added.

"We would like to see our grandson." Elizabeth demanded as she set the picture down on the edge of Max's desk.

"You don't get to call him that," Max stated in a clipped voice, surprising even himself with his audacity as he ignored their barbs. He was sick, he was tired. He had cancer, a pregnant wife and a son in the psychiatric ward—he was in no mood for these people. People who hid behind their money along with their sanctimonious and hypocritical belief system.

"But he is our grandson," Benjamin reminded.

"In title only. To be grandparents you have to be involved and you decided not to be." He said crossing his arms.

"That's not true," Elizabeth replied. "Karen decided that for us. She took him away."

Max felt like he was in a vacuum. "You spent her entire childhood trying to smash a square peg into a round hole and then blamed her for finding a place where she actually fits."

"Now, we don't know what she told you, but—"

"Well I know what you told me and may I remind you it wasn't pleasant. Something about being a no good, womanizer, irresponsible trash, and I think the word worthless was used as well. And something about how could a doctor stoop so low and become no better than the lower class that he insisted on serving. Does that about sum it up? Ring any bells to you?"

"Well, you have to understand that we thought it was all planned out; you and Karen together, a child on the way. It all made sense." Benjamin explained. "There were expectations."

"It made sense to you, but it wasn't your life or decision to make. It made sense until it didn't live up to your expectations when we decided not to force ourselves into a relationship that we couldn't sustain. She failed you, I failed you. But you know what? Neither of us cared, because we didn't fail ourselves or our son. And neither one of us owe you a damn thing. You missed out knowing an amazing boy. And you missed out knowing the amazing woman your daughter became. You have so many contingencies and price tags on your love and she didn't have any interest in paying them."

"I don't like what you are inferring Max," Benjamin stated.

"And I don't like the way you have decided to be judge, jury and executioner." Max retorted. He was finding the entire exchange exhausting. A big part of him just wish he would collapse into a heap on the floor. He found himself fighting that very urge lately and now he'd love to give into it. Spending a lovely day outside of the city with those you love, collapse on a dock and nearly die, forced to listen these two spout their self-righteous piety and you find yourself standing strong. The unfairness of life.

"I don't understand what you mean?" Elizabeth asked. "We raised our daughter with God's love and with that love comes rules. Rules to live by to give your life meaning. We gave her that meaning."

"What you gave her was the dictatorship of a loveless and judgmental God. I'm sure merely an extension of yourselves." Max had nothing against formal religion but what he did take issue with was when people hid behind a god of their making and proclaimed everything was to be as they chose, leaving no room for anyone or anything else that dared to disagree.

"She bore a child out of wedlock." Benjamin added.

"She bore a child out of love." Max retorted. And there had been love, perhaps it had been brief, but it had been intense. And there would always be a connection between them beyond the shared DNA their son possessed. Max was always aware that his blood ran a little hotter, rushed a little faster whenever Karen was around. He loved Georgia and was more than committed to her, but relationships and love held different constants. He had given his heart to one woman and she had given it back. He later gave his heart to another woman and she still held it gently in her hands. But that didn't mean it had forgotten its earlier journey.

"She took her education and threw it away to become a gypsy. I can't see that is what God wanted for her. She never wanted God on her side." Elizabeth stated. "Listen Max, we have grandparents rights and we are on God's side and God is on our side."

"No, God was never on your side. Never on your side." Max repeated. "Not your idea of God—your idea of divinity is Godless, loveless, subjective, an illusion that other people refuse to fall for. God is in the masses that I see and treat and every day. He is in the impoverished and destitute that Karen helped in places that nobody wanted to go to. She helped those who needed it the most. She is the very essence of divinity and I am so sorry that you can't see that."

"And she dragged your son with her and see what happened!" Ben yelled.

Max shook his head. "Better he take his chances in the world than with you, at least he actually helps people, which is more than I can say for you. I saw what you did to Karen and she did everything in her power to make sure it didn't happen to J.C.. At least the tragedy he faced didn't come from someone who claimed they loved him."

"We just want to help him Max. Why won't you let us help him?" Elizabeth asked.

"Wow. Help him huh? Don't try and be his friend, not after you discarded him when he was four weeks old."

"That wasn't our choice." Benjamin defended.

"It was. Karen told you she wouldn't have him exposed to your ways and you refused to change your ways. So don't come here and evangelize with all your self-righteous bullshit. There is nothing here that is yours."

"You think that we don't love him, don't miss him in our lives?" Elizabeth said, her eyes blinking rapidly.

"There is nothing that you can say to me that will make me embrace you or entertain your wishes. I have everything I need and so does J.C.."

"We have a right to see him," Benjamin began. "We heard he was involved in some kind of traumatic accident. We can provide better care for him than here. We can have him in a private hospital with the best specialists."

"Do you even know what happened to him?"

"No details. Just something about trauma." Elizabeth said. Max managed a tight smile and shook his head. "Is he in ICU or a regular room?"

"Clearly your sources are too ignorant or too scared to tell you the truth. J.C. wouldn't know either one of you if he tripped over you. He is fine right where he is. He is busy healing with people who truly care for him and have bonded with him in more ways than you have ever attempted, which isn't saying much since you only saw him once.

"He isn't going anywhere and if you knew the truth I'm sure you would rescind the offer."

"Then tell us the truth." Ben demanded.

"I'm sorry but you just don't deserve it." Max replied.

"But Karen took him away from us—to remote places. We never had a chance or a choice." Elizabeth cried.

"You had every chance. When he was with me, we were here in the city, when he was with Karen she had him here in this very same city for three months each time before they went over seas. You had nine months of every year to work out visitation, a relationship. You chose not to. And your choices, sealed your fate, and perhaps J.C.'s as well. Now if you'll excuse me I have work to do. I'm a busy guy, so I don't really spend much time in this small and inadequate office without a view."

Later that night after Max had gone up and visited with J.C. for a few minutes as promised, he cornered Iggy.

"Come in Max," he said waving him into his office. "I was just packing it up for the night. Did you see J.C.?"

"I did. I needed it as much as he did."

"Did you talk about anything?"

"Nothing really. And I guess that was the beauty of it—we didn't need to say much to soothe our fears. I needed to see him and know that he was okay and he needed to know that I was okay as well." Max looked off into the distance and thought back on his recent visit with J.C.. Max loved his son with his entire soul, but he had great trepidation as he rode the elevator up and swiped his badge into the unit. His son was so broken and he had no idea how to fix it. He didn't have the right words or plan to ease the pain. But it turned out that he didn't need them as all J.C. needed at the moment was him. All Max need was to be seen and as he hovered in the doorway, J.C. jumped and ran over to him, jumping into his arms sobbing an apology. Max soothed him and sat down on the mattress holding his son as he cried it out. Loves perfect ache—holding a piece of yourself as they let go of the most painful tears.

"I'm glad that you had some time together." Iggy said, bringing Max back to the present. "I'll spend some time with him tomorrow. If he tells me what I want to hear, which I'm sure he will because he's too smart not to, I'll take him off watch the following morning if he has a good night."

"I know you're doing what is best for him and I thank you for that. Just hearing him saying he wanted to die crushed my heart. I had been avoiding reality for so long that when it hit me over the head I didn't know how to handle it."

"I think you handled it fine. Tell me about your visitors." He said switching topics.

"Oh you heard about that." Iggy nodded and mashed his lips into a distraught smile. "They were Karen's parents. They heard through someone that J.C. was here, but apparently their contact wasn't brave enough to tell them he was in the psychiatric unit. I'm sure if they knew that they would have continued to ignore his existence as they have since the day he was born."

"So no relationship whatsoever?"

"None. Karen didn't marry me or I didn't marry her, not sure which is the greater sin. She had the courage to be independent and follow her heart and her dreams. And since they weren't her parents' dreams and aspirations their love just wasn't strong enough to allow that. I hadn't heard from them since before J.C. was born. She took him to their house when he was an infant, that's the only time they ever saw him."

"Why do you think they came here tonight then?"

Max sighed and looked off at the far wall. "They never even asked about Karen. I don't know if she has even spoken with them." He said absentmindedly. "They came, because they could. They came to save their poor ailing grandson who, in their eyes, clearly was no longer of any importance to his mother. The gesture wasn't to help J.C., it was simply to hurt Karen."

"That's a pretty powerful accusation."

"Maybe, but it's an accurate one, of that much I'm certain."

"Do you think they'll come back?" Iggy asked looking at the face of the most optimistic and people person that he knew and realized he had never seen this emotion etched on Max's face before. It was a mixture he couldn't quite decipher, but it held absolutely nothing positive.

"Who knows. They are certain this public hospital isn't up to their standards and nothing I do will make it so. They can get their digs into me and Karen at the same time. Remind us after all these years just how inadequate we are."

"I'm sorry Max. Parents can really send us reeling especially when our children are involved," Iggy said recalling months before when his mother lashed out in a passive aggressive manner that hit him right in the heart because it affected his daughter.

"They don't matter. Only J.C. matters."

"How is Karen? Have you heard from her?"

"She is in a program in San Francisco. She didn't give me details, but I had a feeling if she didn't join this 'program' she wouldn't be allowed to continue with the medical group and her travels."

"Voluntold," Iggy said combining the words volunteer and told. "You have to do it, but they make pretend that it was all up to you."

"None of this is okay and I can't do a damn thing about it."

"Yes you can and yes you have. You are supporting J.C., you have kept up the lines of communication with Karen. Things will never be the same and I'm not going to bother patronizing you and pretending that they will, but things will improve. J.C. may always carry the baggage of that day, but he knows he has help when it gets too heavy."

"I'm a glorified bellhop."

"Something like that. Come on, I'll buy a cup of coffee from that shop on the corner."

"It's nine o'clock at night, Iggy."

"Oh, so it is. Well then we'll see what else they might have."

"How about bagels tomorrow morning, my treat?" Max offered.

"Sounds great. Tomorrow morning then." Iggy turned to leave but looked back at Max. "You know your kid never had a chance."

"I'm sorry?" Max asked confused.

"You throw yourself into the clinic or hospital or wherever you are to avoid dealing with past, future and present. From the sounds of it, Karen does the same thing. J.C. is an amazing child who has the very same problem of never focusing on himself—he always seeks to help others to avoid his own demons. It can make the road to recovery a very long and winding one."

Max wasn't sure what to say. "I." He began but go no further.

"That's your problem Max, you, Karen and now J.C., you're so busy trying to rescue the world when it's you that needs to be rescued."

Once again Max tried to say something but it refused to come, mostly, because nothing had formed on his lips.

"You run Max, you all run. It's time to stop running."

Max, exhausted, but unable to sleep lay in be listening to Georgia's even breathing next to him. She had been reading in bed by the time he got home. After hearing what Iggy had said before they parted he headed to the diner around the corner and ordered some kind of pastry that he didn't eat and a cup of tea that he barely sipped. What he did do, however, was think. He thought about just how right Iggy was. It was why Karen had been attracted to third world countries—to prove her parents wrong or to be literally on the opposite side of the world both physically and metaphorically. Her desperate need to be as far away as possible in both a geographic and economic manner. She alone knew why she seemingly gave up everything for a nomadic life full of nothing and everything all at the same time. What had always meant everything to her parents, was meaningless to her. Her cause of giving to those who that needed to the most seemed simply a waste of her time and skills in their eyes. And the fact that it had always meant everything to her just showed that paths would never cross or reconcile.

For J.C. the seemingly stray genetic flaw caused him to mourn a girl in a faraway land that he had only met once but nonetheless felt that he had let down, despite the fact that they could do no more than palliative care. It made him continue to reach out to another girl when he wasn't ready to let go and act out in ways that went against everything he had been taught, by teasing a woman. And finally it drove him to create an entire person to deal with the rejection and avoid facing a past that he couldn't yet comprehend.

When there was nothing left to focus on in front of him he was forced to look behind him at what was chasing him, gaining on him. What eventually caught up with him, giving him no place else to go but to the reality of the truth and the life altering explosion that it created.

As for himself, he too, was always looking for something to fill the void. Whether it was a rundown clinic in Chinatown to avoid a failed relationship and his shortcomings as a single father. Or taking on an enormous hospital to avoid the ache in his throat that he already knew was cancer. But in reality it all led back to the one thing that he could never escape—Luna's death. No matter what he did, he could never bring her back. So instead he flung himself forward filling the gaping hole with everything he could possibly find.

He got together with a woman who subscribed to the same ideology, but instead of a profound loss she worked to banish a childhood she felt was hypocritical at best and down right damning and damaging at its worst. And together they knowingly or unknowingly passed the very same philosophy down to their son.

Iggy had it right. He was a runner. He ran, in fact he logged more miles that a marathon runner in training. Karen ran, she ran all the way to South America, Africa and beyond. And now J.C., sweet little J.C., was running so far, so fast and Max was afraid that he would never look back.

 _ **Soundtrack:**_

 _ **Broken Crown by Mumford and Sons when Max is talking with Karen's parents**_

 _ **Ain't No Place for a Hero by The Heavy as Max is in bed**_


	20. Of Dreams and Nightmares

Of Dreams and Nightmares

Iggy flipped through a psychiatric journal that contained a great article about childhood schizophrenia and knew that J.C. definitely didn't seem to suffer from it. He had known that before he even began reading the article, he supposed he was stalling. J.C. was just a small boy who had been stuck in the middle of a huge and terrifying ordeal that had taken away everyone's breath but his. A difficult burden to carry at any age—nearly impossible for one so young. But then again, kids were more resilient than most adults. But Iggy also knew that if the boy didn't start trying to heal himself, then he would never move forward. Paulie, in many ways saved his life, allowing him to manage as his world deteriorated. But it was a temporary fix and until J.C. could look inward and see he was the one who needed the help—who was worthy of the help—his suffering would never truly end. He was at the ready to slay the monsters of everyone's nightmares, but when it came to his own, he just simply couldn't seem to rally on his own behalf. And until Iggy could figure out why, he was afraid the kid would just simply be mired in his own monotonous turbulence and anxiety ridden agitation.

While chewing on a bagel that had more cream cheese than bagel he had a learned a little more about Karen's past and despite what appeared to be all the trimmings of a privileged life, there had been more than a fair share of dysfunction behind those ornate doors and fake uptight smiles. If what he heard had been reality he certainly couldn't blame Karen for running away and not looking back.

She came from stock where money and religion spoke louder than common sense or reality and people played their parts whether or not they enjoyed the role they were assigned. Karen had been one of the few to eschew the personification and live life her way, writing her own story and not following the chapters that had been laid out in front of her, fed to her by rote her entire life. She was a strong force to be reckoned with and it made him wonder how well she was faring in her own vortex of trauma.

"You didn't eat," Iggy said sitting down on a chair that he had brought with him into J.C.'s room. He decided the goal of the week was to get the kid to start eating—it had become a must have. "Do you remember what I told you would happen if you didn't start eating?"

"Feeding tube." J.C. said in monotone.

"Yes, and I really don't think you want that. By not eating well, you are putting your entire body at risk. You need nutrition and if you don't get it, a lot bad things can happen. Did you know it could affect your heart?"

J.C. shook his head as he looked up at his doctor. "I have enough stuff that already affects my heart."

"I know you do kiddo. I'm sure you feel like you're not in control of anything and that's why choosing what you eat or don't eat is so important to you."

J.C. stood up and looked at Iggy. "Is that what you think? You think I'm not eating so that I can control something?"

Iggy was taken slightly aback. "Yes. Isn't it?"

"No," J.C. answered. "Well, not really. I guess it does give me some kind of leverage, but that isn't my motive."

"Then why aren't you eating?" Iggy asked a little rattled as well as frustrated that he had it all wrong.

"I don't eat because how can I? I mean they're all dead and I get to be fat and happy? That is so far from right that I can't bear to do it. They never get to eat again. They died in the dirt and scrub brush, most never having known the advantage of regular meals and now—well now they are nothing. Nothing but a memory."

"A beautiful memory to those that they had touched in their lives, including you. So you're neither fat or happy and not eating because you feel as if you're betraying them?"

"I guess. I feel like it's disrespectful."

"Oh J.C.," Iggy said rubbing his hand over his face. "Do you think that they would want you to sacrifice your health on their behalf?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Well I think that they would want you to go on and not necessarily live on their behalf, but to live your life to the fullest because they no longer can. I think they are right behind you cheering you on at every turn. I think it would sadden them to know that you were hurting yourself by not eating because of them. What do you think?"

"I think I want to tell you what you want to hear so I can leave this room and all the extra supervision." J.C. replied.

"Well I think that you need to tell me the truth. If you cover yourself up with layers of lies then I have to peel those back to find a way to help you and the more layers there are then the longer it will take me to find you and what you need. Does that make sense?"

J.C. sighed. "Okay. I think that I don't want all that responsibility. I didn't want to be the one chosen to live to carry on, bear the burden of being the survivor."

"It is a lot, especially on such a young person. But I think you are far stronger than you believe you are."

"Like making up Paulie?"

"Yes, like finding a way to help yourself through difficult times."

"I knew she wasn't real."

"I know that."

"I just pretended."

"Yes you did."

"I have this dream all of the time. Not every night, but lots of them. I hate it." J.C. said changing the subject, sitting back down on his mattress.

"Tell me about it." Iggy said as he got out of the chair and eased himself down onto the floor as he looked at J.C..

"It starts out the same every time. I'm underwater. I think it's a lake, the water is clear, there isn't much of a current. I start to run out of air so I try to swim to the surface to take a breath, but I can't. It's like something is holding me back. I think I can see faces up at the surface but I can't tell who they are. I try to kick my feet and move my arms to go up but I just can't get anywhere. And when I can't breathe anymore I wake up. I usually am taking a big breath when I wake up and my heart is pounding. It feels so real."

"And it's the same each time?"

"Yeah. I had it last night, but this time I tried something different."

"What did you do differently?"

"I quit trying to get to the surface. I didn't fight it. I thought maybe I could just float to the top."

"But you didn't?"

"No. I woke up gasping for breath."

"I guess that means you have to keep fighting then."

"But I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting. And I don't even know who I'm fighting."

"Then we'll have to figure it out." Iggy said.

"Do you know?" J.C. asked, his eyes moist.

"I think that sometimes you are fighting yourself."

"Myself? I don't understand."

Iggy pushed the breakfast tray towards the boy. "Why don't we talk about it while you eat breakfast," Iggy stated.

"All I did was survive." J.C. replied.

"But that's absolutely everything isn't it."

A day later when J.C. was released back to the general area he sat down and studied his puzzle. It was just as he had left it, and Iggy had made a production of unlocking the door and showing him that everything was the same. Even the sheets and blankets on the bed were still twisted in the sleepless turmoil that they had been left in.

Ten minutes back into his room produced an additional piece placed in a puzzle that held infinite possibilities of sameness. Only the shapes differed as the sea was the same color other than the one churning wave that J.C. had already attached together. His only thought at the time was the tide washing it away. But what was being washed away he had no idea.

"Knock knock," Meredith voiced as she her hand rapped the door frame. "Is it okay if I come in? I have your breakfast."

"Sure," J.C. said as he sat up straight.

"I ate mine. It wasn't too bad. Aaron made this one special for you, it has cinnamon applesauce, cheerios and peaches. He said you like that stuff."

"It's okay," J.C. admitted looking down at the food and recalling Iggy telling him that if he didn't gain some weight he would have to have a feeding tube. He explained it was not a pleasant procedure and if he pulled it out then he would have to be restrained. He had been weighed when he first came in and his weight had plateaued and then he had gained two pounds only to lose three. Now he had to be weighed every day and if it dropped further the staff would be forced to take action.

"Please eat. You're all elbows and knees. You're so cute but your face is too thin."

"You think I'm cute?" J.C. asked.

Meredith blushed and looked away momentarily. "Yeah. I do. I always have."

"You're sure?" J.C. asked in disbelief.

"Yes I'm sure silly. You have beautiful eyes." She giggled.

"I like your hair," J.C. replied with a shy smile.

"Eat. You have to eat. I can't lose you too. Please."

"Okay," J.C. said taking a spoonful of cereal. "You didn't say that just to get me to eat did you?"

"No," she promised as she leaned over and kissed his cheek.

J.C. was barely past the age where he thought girls had cooties and his excitement of hearing Meredith's words sent a warm rush throughout his body. He had noticed her early in the school year and wasn't exactly sure why, but he definitely discovered the reason only moments ago.

"Will you help me?" J.C. asked scooting over so she could sit next to him.

"I thought you'd never ask."

With help from Meredith, another boy named Mikey, as well as Dr. Frome and Aaron on occasion, the puzzle was slowly coming together and that scared Iggy. He wasn't sure if J.C.'s time frame was in sync with the pieces that were fitting together to form the picture on the box. He thought it was great that J.C. was reaching out, asking for assistance, moving forward, but he feared once it was over J.C. would be lost and unsure of what to do next. Would he attempt something else, another puzzle, something new or would he close down again. Iggy had been trying to get J.C. to talk about that day, to tell him in his own words what had happened, but the farthest that they had gotten was that it was hot and that he and Claude had been playing when the trucks pulled up. It was there that he shut down every time.

A week before Iggy and several aides had taken some of the kids to the site of the outdoor garden on the roof. He showed them where the plants had been and what they had produced the previous season. J.C. had been on the outing but was taken inside prematurely as he had wandered away from the group and to the edge of the roof. He claimed he had already seen the garden was just looking at life below, but nobody was allowed near the edge and the last thing he needed was some kind of accident or intentional dive over the side. He also didn't need J.C. to give anyone the idea that it was okay to wander away, even he had no desire to leap, that couldn't be said for them all.

He never used to take the kids out here, but found that reminding them of the outside world helped more than it hurt. Fresh air, sunshine, even snowflakes and raindrops all became precious when they had become only a memory.

He knew that it was time, past time, to move Meredith to the Green Level. She had stabilized, understood how permanent her actions could have been, and had the full support and love of her remaining parent. During visiting times, they had talked, bonded and come to a better understanding of each other and their pain. She had come to realize that taking her own life wasn't what she really wanted to do, she had just wanted the pain to stop. She had felt as if the world had been empty and that she had been abandoned, but though she was reluctant to admit it at first, she had been grateful to wake up and greet another day.

Once she had seen J.C., her healing sped up and the twinkle returned to her eyes. She had told Iggy that J.C. was the one person she could be herself with and that everyone needed that one person. She had only wished she had understood that months ago. And their friendship was the only reason she hadn't been moved, despite the questions from his co-workers. But sometimes being the boss had it's perks.

He feared moving her to the other unit would hamper her healing and she would backslide. His other fear was that without Meredith, J.C. would just stop—stop eating, stop trying to deal with his memories. That he would just allow his rage to consume him and Iggy just wasn't ready to take that chance with either of them. So for right now he let their relationship call the shots—if it ain't broke, why fix it? But sometimes, despite appearances there were always things that just couldn't be predicted.

 _ **Soundtrack~**_

 _ **Mad World ~ Imagine Dragons version**_


	21. Rooftop Confessions

Rooftop Confessions

Days later J.C. stood on the roof and looked out at the buildings rising up like trees in the jungle. He loved be on rooftops. It gave him a sense of power that he didn't get anywhere else. He knew his father often visited the tops of buildings as well, so perhaps it was a genetic thing. He wasn't supposed to be up here by himself, he wasn't supposed to be anywhere by himself, but he just couldn't stand to be in the building any longer. He had knelt down on the floor by the door to investigate what turned out to be a visitors badge. He then managed to sneak through the door when it had opened at shift change. It was as orderly as possible but occasionally a distraction caused attention to divert elsewhere and he had crawled on the floor into the next hallway when an aide had been forced to run to a chaotic scene down the hall. From there he knew his way around from his regular visits to Dr. Frome for therapy. He slipped and slid his way to the roof door and was finally in the fresh air. The wind blew his hair and made him feel free and alive again. The temperature was cool, but he didn't care. It was the least of his worries—well until they came looking for him.

He was afraid his parents were mad at each other and that it was his fault. They didn't understand him, either one of them. His mother thought he was strong and his father thought he was weak. They were both wrong, he was neither. He was normal, typical, average. At least that's what he wanted to be, strove to be. But he was discovering the difficulty in becoming something that had no directions or parameters. People looked at you all day long but never truly saw you. He loved both of his parents and he knew they loved him, but love was something that wasn't easy to define or classify. It was a living breathing thing that possessed a fluidity of its own making.

He looked across the street and wished that he could jump across the rooftops like Batman and just keep going until he ran out of buildings, then he would dive into the river and swim until he could swim no more. But life had definitions or at the very least it defined you, despite your best efforts.

He walked over to the edge and looked down. It was so far, so far away that he could probably sing an entire song before he crashed to the pavement below. That fine line between life and death, the other side always being just a heartbeat away. He didn't want to die, he had hardly lived, but there would always be that nagging feeling that he should have lost his life months ago. Why was he so deserving? The answer was that he wasn't, no more so than any other person there that had been sentenced to death simply because of their citizenship. That was something he was going to have to somehow learn to live with. Survivor's guilt as Dr. Frome had told him. It wasn't so easy to be a survivor.

He sat down, his back against the wall and flipped through his homemade passport, the art project he had been forced to make earlier that day. He had been tired of drawing pictures so he asked to use scissors and staples to make his own little book. He was supervised closely, but allowed to use both tools. When he was finished he had a small, neat, multi-paged booklet where he had drawn the outline of countries, continents, oceans as well as local favorites. On one of the pages he had drawn a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge, his favorite bridge of all time. His mom had actually been the first to take him for a walk across it. He remembered thinking that he couldn't decide if the bridge separated Manhattan from Brooklyn or helped to make them one. Since that first day, he had crossed it on foot more times than he could count. The memories gave him a brief moment of serenity. He recalled all of the cables spreading out like a spider web, holding fast to an unshakable foundation. He wished he could be like a bridge, but he had neither the capability nor the strength to hold on or stand strong.

Iggy was beyond panic and now his breathing was becoming ragged. Somehow J.C. Goodwin had disappeared. One minute he had been there then at the next check, he was unaccounted for. They had scoured every inch of the Yellow Level area, where the kids were under more supervision and the treatment was more intense, and where J.C. had been housed all these weeks.

They had also scoured the Green Level area where the kids were in a more relaxed atmosphere, got to wear street clothes and went to classes housed within the unit. But the boy was nowhere to be found. Iggy hadn't yet called Max. He already had someone go down and check Max's office in case the boy had migrated back to the place that might have given him comfort. But he wasn't there and Zeke had inconspicuously checked several other areas and rewound the cameras to look for him in the main hospital.

"Anything?" He asked one of the aides who had been staring at their own camera feed, having rewound it to the last time J.C. had been seen.

"Here he is in the hallway, then two kids pass him and he just disappears."

"How can he just disappear?" Iggy asked, his eye's wide, his voice rising.

Jonathan, the aide whose eyes had been glued to the screen pointed. "See, here he is and then the two kids pass by between the camera and him and after they go by he's gone. The cameras cover a lot of this department, but of course there are blind spots and he must have fallen into one."

"And what? Kept falling?"

"Look," one of the nurses said as she looked over the counter, "if he went down to the floor and crawled over to the door he could have made it out without being seen or picked up by the camera."

"But the door is locked, how would he have gotten out?" Iggy asked.

"The time stamp said it was around the time of shift change, maybe when people were coming and going—" the aide stated.

"Maggie was screaming," the nurse interrupted. "Several people ran to check on her."

"He could have slipped out," Iggy finished. "But where would he have gone?" He pondered as he plucked at his chin.

He thought back to a few days ago when he saw J.C., Meredith doing yoga and meditating. It was something the hospital had been trying recently and found that it was really helping calm the kids down. Two days ago, he saw that Mikey had joined them. He was a ten year old boy who had been in out of foster care and often went back to his drug addicted mother who was too out of it to realize that her son was merely a pawn in her love affair with addiction. She dragged him from one drug house to another, trading the use of her son for the drug du jour. He was the one who so often paid the price for her cravings.

Three weeks ago, the police busted into a apartment after a shots fired call and found him in the corner, bloody, with two dead bodies in the same room. One had been shot, the other had been dead for at least forty-eight hours from and overdose. The perpetrator was in the bathroom getting high, the gun resting in his lap. Mikey's mother was nowhere to be found. The boy, who had been reported by teachers to be fairly talkative despite his unfortunate lifestyle, hadn't spoken since being found.

He had stayed to himself and mute, but Iggy noticed the slightest spark in his eye that day when he sidled up next to J.C. and stretched as he learned how to control his breathing. Sometimes victims could help each other more than they could help themselves. And often more than the so called experts could ever assist.

Yesterday he had spent a few minutes rejoicing as he watched the three of them work on J.C.'s puzzle. J.C. had opened up and allowed others to help put all the pieces together and both Mikey and Meredith had their own momentum going as they took joy in helping someone else and simply joining in something and ending their isolation.

"Hey Mikey," Iggy said when he caught up to the boy who was standing near J.C.'s room. "Do you know where he is?" He asked nodding towards the room. Mikey shook his head no. "You sure?" Mikey nodded vehemently that he didn't.

"You like J.C. don't you?" The boy nodded his head up and down. "Did he say he was going anywhere? Maybe to see his dad?" The head shook back and forth. But then as Iggy was about to admit defeat, Mikey looked up. "The roof—Max told me they would go up on the roof. Oh, God, the roof," he said running towards the exit.

J.C. thought of his puzzle. The one of the ocean with the waves coming and going, so much like life—never still. But now he felt like he was still, motionless—stuck. He felt so broken, like the pieces in the puzzle box, and if he was shaken he would rattle. Could all those pieces ever go back together again? Would he ever be whole again? Did he want to be? Did any of it matter?

He had come up to the roof for many reasons. One being that it was a place he and Max would come to and look out at the skyline during the day and talk about school, friends and life. At night, they would pretend to see the stars even though they were washed out by the city lights. They would pretend the building windows and blinding lights were constellations that needed to be named. They had named them the Fifth Avenue Cluster, the Empire Way among others.

But he was also up here to have a few minutes to himself—something he desperately needed. He, like all patients wasn't allowed to close his door and the bathroom stall was the only place of any privacy. But even there they checked on you frequently, making it difficult to ever relax.

The fresh air and sunshine invigorated him as he breathed deeply. He had gotten outside twice before today, but just on short outings with a group. Part of him hated having every moment of the day documented, watched, determined to be positive or lacking. Dr. Frome had so often reminded him that he had so many people in his corner and that was great, he needed that, wanted the help. But sometimes what he wanted the most was five damn minutes to himself.

He looked down again at his passport project and sighed. He wondered how his mother was doing and if she was mad at him for not replying to his texts. He knew she was in as much pain as he was, maybe even more. What if she never came back to New York? What if he never saw her again? Why were there so many what-if's in life? He had planned to toss his passport over the wall and watch it fall all they way down to the street below. He had hoped it would somehow free him in some manner. But now that he was up here it just didn't feel right. Not like this and not alone.

He jumped up a bit so that his torso was on the wall that separated the roof from the street below and could just see below, his legs, not long enough, dangled, unable to touch the roof below. A blast of wind ruffled his hair and he closed his eyes and inhaled. Suddenly he felt a small piece of his soul click into place. He felt the sun on his face, the wind in his hair and his heart suddenly quickened as it woke up from a dormancy that J.C. didn't know it had taken. But he was ripped from his revelry when he felt a hand on his back and was pulled backwards.

"Jason, you scared the hell out of me," Iggy said breathlessly. "Are you okay?"

"I was until you grabbed me," J.C. snapped as found himself sitting on the roof with his back to the wall.

"You aren't supposed to be up here alone, or at all."

"Maybe not, but I had to."

"Why?"

"To know that I was still alive. I wasn't going to jump, I was going to throw this off," he said showing the little booklet.

Iggy looked at the hand made passport. "Nice job," he said as he flipped through it. "Why would you want to throw it away?"

"I don't know—to get rid of that part of my life—the part that put me here."

"I see. Well, that is a good idea. But, one, you can't take off on your own. Two, you can't be up here by yourself. Three, you can't throw things off buildings. From this distance it would cause chaos when it landed."

"Oh. I guess I never thought about that part. Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"I know you didn't."

"Dr. Frome?"

"Yeah, J.C.?"

"Does my dad know I'm up here?"

"I didn't even tell him you were missing."

"But I did," Dora said from a spot next to the door. "I was informed that a patient had gotten out of the Yellow Level locked unit. Once I discovered who it was, I informed Max. He's on his way."

"He was going to have to find out buddy," Iggy explained.

J.C. sighed. "Well, by being here I'm already grounded so I guess he'll just be mad and maybe yell a little."

"I'm sure it will be fine." Iggy assured. "You know that he loves you so much."

"I know he does. But it was like my head was cloudy and I needed something different. I couldn't breathe that stale air anymore."

"We've gotten you outside a few times," Iggy reminded.

"I know, but it's not the same."

"No, I suppose not." Iggy said as he put his arm around J.C. and leaned back against the wall. He looked up and saw Max heading their way. He jumped up as his boss approached. "He's okay, just thought he'd take a unauthorized field trip."

"I'll walk him back to you after we talk," Max assured looking down at his son who stared off in the distance. Iggy nodded and headed towards the door.

"You okay?" Max asked as he pulled his arms out of his lab coat and sat down draping around his sons shoulders.

"It wasn't my fight. In Africa, it wasn't my fight."

"No it wasn't."

"But I was in the middle of it and they tried to kill me. They didn't even know who I was and they wanted me dead."

"That is often the case. We fear what we don't understand and who we don't know."

"They had no right."

"No they didn't," Max agreed, happy that J.C. for once seemed to be focusing on himself instead of all the other victims.

"We just wanted to leave something behind. Something good. They took it all away. They had no right to do that."

"You still left good things behind. People knew you were there to help and you did help so many people."

"But not the ones who died. They died because they came to us and it got them killed."

"Some, but many others lived because of the care they had received."

"Polly died. We couldn't help her," J.C. said speaking of the girl afflicted with the brain tumor in Egypt.

"When did she die?"

J.C. shrugged. "I found out one of the times I Skyped with Mom. I think it was right before I made up my Paulie—it was a way to keep her alive, to help her."

"We can't save everyone son."

"You try to—every day you try to."

Max sighed and realized that his son wasn't too far off and now understood why people had tried the very same reasoning with him—that you can't save them all. "You're right, I do try and mostly I fail and that's a hard thing to deal with. We have to focus on doing the best we can for as many as we can and that has to be good enough. Right now we need to focus on you."

"If you focus on you. How are your cancer treatments going?" J.C. asked.

"They're going."

"Are you going?"

"Max looked over at his son and realized just how well the youngster knew him. "I am. I have a new doctor and she doesn't take no for an answer."

"Kind of like my doctor. He likes cooperation."

"Yeah," Max smiled, "just like yours."

"What happened to Dr. Sharpe?"

"She fired me."

"Wow. You are a lousy patient."

"Yeah, I guess I am. I'll tell you what—I'll give it my best if you give it your best. Deal?"

"Deal," J.C. agreed. "I miss hanging out with you after school," J.C. said.

"I miss that too. But even though I want that back as soon as possible, I want you healthy even more. And I kind of like knowing that you are nearby all day."

"I'm not getting any better. Dr. Frome said I have to talk about that day, but I can't."

"Do you remember it? Not the video, but what you saw with your eyes?" Max thought back to the images on the screen: The man put his fingers to his lips—shhhh—and it was then that Max saw his son crumble into a million pieces that he knew would never completely be put back together again. He knew even if somehow, some way pieces could be repaired there would always be fractures—scars shining through, scars that could be smoothed over but would never be erased. Would his son ever be better, never whole, but better?

"Other kids get better and move to the Green Level. They get to go to class and wear jeans and get ready to go back to the outside. But I feel like I'm stuck—I'll be yellow forever."

"Don't be in a competition with anyone. Just try to be a better person than you were yesterday, to do better. Everyone in there has a different story, a different reason for being there.

"Iggy said that you and Meredith along with another boy had been together a lot."

"Mikey. He doesn't talk anymore."

"That's too bad."

"Maybe he doesn't have anything to say," J.C. said as pulled his father's lab coat tighter around him. "Maybe he's tired of talking to people who don't listen to him. I think a lot of people hurt him."

Max wanted to suggest that the go inside since they were both getting cold but he didn't want to break up their conversation.

"I feel like I'm looking for something I can't see. I feel like I'm running with nowhere to run to. Do you think the other kids feel like that too?"

"Maybe. That's the thing about feelings, the variety of emotions and diversity of people provide for endless combinations. There is no right or wrong kiddo, you can move as slowly as you want to, but you just have to keep moving. You'll have good days, bad days, days that are overwhelming, days you are exhausted, days that are awesome, and days that you feel like you can't go on. And every day I have faith that you'll still show up."

"It's just so hard and I'm so tired. I want to move ahead, get past this part, but I can't make myself hurry."

"Think of life like a book. You can't skip chapters, that's not how life works. You have to read every line, meet every character. You won't enjoy all of it. Hell, some chapters will make you cry for weeks. You will read things you don't want to read, you will have moments when you don't want the pages to end. But you have to keep going. You have to face things you don't want to face."

"Even if it hurts?"

"Even if it hurts. There comes a point in your life when you realize that turning the page is the best feeling in the world because there's so much more to the book than the page you were stuck on. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah. I have to keep trying, keep going forward even if it's hard. Even if I don't want to. Even if I'm afraid of what I might see."

"Yes. But you know you are not alone—ever. When you need time, you can have privacy, just not up here on the roof," Max said smiling. He looked over and saw the small booklet in his sons hand. "What's that?"

"My fake passport. I was going to throw it over the side of the building, but when I got up here, it didn't feel right."

"I see. The time isn't right, but it will be."

"Dad," J.C. said looking over at Max. "Is mercy a sign of weakness or a sign of strength?"

Max pulled his head back unsure what to say.

"Those men came in like a tidal wave—bigger than those waves when we had to leave the beach. Waves like hurricane Sandy. They came in and showed no mercy, so that means their weak, right?"

"I think that is exactly right."

"But they killed everyone and weak people don't do that."

"Weakness can be described in many ways."

"But their big wave washed over us but instead of being wet with water it was blood," J.C. said looking away. "That's what it reminded me of—a big crashing wave of blood."

Max was beginning to feel as if he was in over his head in this conversation. "It doesn't take strength to rob people, rob them of things, their dignity or their life. If they had been stronger they would have left you alone."

"Dad? Am I strong?"

"The strongest person I know. Hey, it's cold out here. Why don't we go in?" Max asked.

J.C. stood up as Max followed suit. An involuntary shiver raced through Max, causing J.C. to pull the lab coat off and hand it back to his father. "I like the hat," he said as he reached up and tugged at it, noticing his father's lack of hair. "You're losing your hair. Is it because of the treatments?"

"Yes it is. Told you I was going to them."

"I believed you. Are you going to be okay?" J.C. asked.

"I giving it my best."

J.C. leaned in and hugged Max. "Please get better. Shouldn't you be taking vacation or something?"

"But then I would be here near you."

"What's this?" J.C. asked as he felt the feeding tube underneath his father's scrub top.

Max sighed. He saw no point in lying. "It's a feeding tube. It's hard for me to eat because my throat hurts and I'm nauseous a lot."

"Is that because of the treatments too?"

"Yes. Remember when Dr. Sharpe said I would have to get sick before I got better?" J.C. nodded that he did. "Well this is part of it. But the feeding tube is helping me get the nutrients I need and my hair will grow back when the treatments are over."

"They said I would have to get a feeding tube if I didn't start eating. If I had one, we'd both have one."

"True, but I think it would be much better for both of us if you would eat. In fact, why don't eat for me too. Do you remember some of my favorite foods?"

"Spaghetti, because it's all you knew how to make for a long time," J.C. laughed. "And hamburgers."

"Well eat a lot of spaghetti for me and hamburgers too."

"I still think meat is gross."

"Well, then eat lots of veggies for me."

"Okay." J.C. paused and looked down at his feet. "Dad?"

"Yeah buddy," Max said looking down at his son.

"Don't leave me. Please don't die. I love you," he said as a sob escaped and tears fell.

Max bent down and looked his son in the eyes. "I am fighting every day and I need you to fight every day as well. Together we will fight for each other. We will win. Don't ever forget you are the strongest person I know."

"Okay, Dad, don't forget where I got it from."

Later Max recounted his conversation with Iggy. They had discussed his escape on the way back to the ward.

"So he didn't plan to escape?" Iggy asked after Max explained their conversation and how J.C. got off the unit.

"No. He admitted he wanted to get out on his own, but didn't have a plan. Said it was practically impossible so he didn't waste his time trying to figure it out."

"Well that makes me feel a little better except for the fact that he waltzed out and made his way to the roof with zero detection."

"He told me that he was walking around the unit, trying to burn off some energy," Max explained. "He always liked walk, it helps calm him down. But as he neared the front desk, near the door, he saw something on the floor. When he bent down to see what it was he disappeared from the view of the camera. It ended up being a visitor badge and just as he picked it up and was still on the floor when the door opened and Maggie screamed and nobody noticed him slip through. He knew the Green unit well enough from his visits with you to know where to slip in and out of doors and end up on the roof. He said it gave him the breath of fresh air that he needed."

"And he just happened to have his passport on him?" Iggy asked.

"He had been carrying it around, thinking about his mother. Suddenly tossing it off the roof seemed like a great idea, until he got up there."

Iggy nodded. "There are some good things in there Max. I'm not going to lie, he still needs a lot of treatment, but he is focusing a bit more on himself. And that's what he needs to do. He can't get better if he is forever lost in his mourning for those that died. He can go back later and deal with his grief. He is a lot like you Max."

"In what way?" Max asked already knowing full well what the answer was.

"You are supposed to be focusing on your treatments, but you constantly worry about everyone else—family, patients, the hospital. Time to focus on you, just like J.C. has to focus on himself. He won't go anywhere fast until he can move forward and leave the burden of carrying everyone else behind him. Right now he's in somewhat of a holding pattern."

"Why?" Max asked.

"He's seeking forgiveness for something that isn't his fault."

 _ **Soundtrack:**_

 _ **The Wind by Cat Stevens**_

 _ **Solsbury Hill by Peter Gabriel**_

 _ **Spirits by Strumbellas**_


	22. The Day The Devil Won

**The Day the Devil Won**

After the rooftop conversation, J.C. seemed to make an effort to focus inward. But it still took many days that turned into many weeks, and many sessions along the way to get him started in the right direction. There was a lot of patience and a lot of encouragement before J.C. could really center himself. To realize that during a cruel summer he had been left to die alone. An innocent child surrounded by other innocents, who had done nothing to deserve the high price that was paid for simply being in a place that was created to help them heal. The irony of it all burned deeply within him. Now he just wanted it out. The road to recovery had been a long one and now he was at the fork in a road—go forward and honor those people who were lost or continue to hide behind the fear and hatred of those that made them that way.

Iggy had encouraged him to release his agony during a private session or group therapy, whichever he felt would work best for him. But in the end, the purge happened in the community room as other patients played board games, talked quietly, read books and played cards. Suddenly all those activities were abandoned as J.C. suddenly began to speak.

"I remember it was hot, so hot, hotter than the day before and I couldn't understand how they dealt with it day in and day out. But Claude told me it was all they ever knew, and it was normal for them—it was home. We were playing, not thinking of anything but the slow roll of the soccer ball..." He began as he sat on the floor of the community lounge surrounded by the other patients, including Meredith and Mikey. Aaron was in the corner helping a patient work on a project that included a mountain of popsicle sticks and glue. Iggy had just walked in and heard J.C.'s voice and froze. They all tumbled back to that day months ago, hearing, seeing what had happened to a boy they had all come to know.

The suns rays had been beating down on them blow by blow. The faces of the intruders were ringed with rage and discontent. They were like finely honed athletes intent on doing their task to the best of their abilities, plying their trade as if a championship trophy was held in the balance. They had a job to do and they had no issue with doing it. Was it necessary? That was a question for another day, a question that would never be asked since things of this nature were never dwelt upon. Each day brought on survival, success brought you another attempt, failure ended it all.

The medical staff had been quickly herded to the back of a truck whose bed was covered by a canvas attachment to keep the sun at bay as well as to hide the contents. The gun urged them forward and gave them no illusions that they had any control or say in the matter. Karen looked back and easily picked out her son, his blond hair a sea of light as it reflected the sun. There was no doubt she would never in her life forget the expression that he wore or the man that looked back at her putting his finger to his lips as if to shush the world. She just wanted to collapse and die right then. She reached out and screamed his name, but was shoved to the ground and then pushed towards the truck. She got up and turned back towards her son, but was hit on the head by the butt of a rifle, her world going fuzzy in so many ways.

He had watched his mother get hurt. She went down to the ground, blood oozing from a cut on her head. A man picked her up and tossed her into the back of the truck effortlessly almost as if she was weightless. As J.C. stood and watched, a man had stepped between them with his fingers to his lips. J.C. watched the truck pull away, his eyes never wavering, not realizing yet that everyone around him was being slaughtered.

With the truck departing, he turned and saw the patients that had lined up for treatment that morning were running, screaming, falling. They were falling because they were dying. Machetes were being raised and brought down and if someone had been quick enough to attempt escape, a bullet took them down, falling in a bloody, agonizing heap. J.C. stood and stared as the bodies crashed to the ground one by one. It was as if he couldn't relate to what was happening in front of him—it had to be a nightmare, a movie, anything but real. He shook his head back and forth rapidly as if that would make a difference—as if it would snap him out of this carnage. Suddenly, Bette, Claude's mother grabbed his hand, she held onto her son with the other. She looked every direction, her head swiveling looking for some kind of benevolent hole to open up for her and the boys. She began to run towards the makeshift buildings that held the clinic and sleeping quarters, but they didn't get far before tripping over a body, the victim, still alive, reaching up with a bloody arm for help that was unable to be given.

J.C. looked down in horror at the woman who had come the last several days due to stomach ailment of some type. She had always smiled at him and ruffled his hair, fascinated with it's color and texture. She had even fastened together some kind of doll made from sticks for him, telling him through the interpreter that it would ward off evil spirits. He took the item graciously and wondered where the hell it was now. He could see the whites of her eyes, the fear of the inevitable, there would be no passing into the other world peacefully. Not here, not like this. It was wrong. They had no right. No right to do this.

Before he could even absorb the fact that this kind woman was losing her soul to the next world, Bette pulled her hand from his as she stood in front of both he and Claude in an effort to protect them. She began shouting something in Swahili, but her pleas only made the man laugh. He laughed at her love, her love for her son, her love for a boy she barely knew. He laughed at their demise and the fact that he was the one privileged enough to cause it. He laughed at the chaos all around him. He laughed at the fact that the devil had won that day.

J.C. stepped over and grabbed Claude's hand tightly, both huddling together behind the adult who made an attempt to save them, aware that her life was already gone. The machete came up and down, noiselessly but deadly all the same. J.C.'s mouth opened, but nothing came out. The boys stood alone, together, linked by hands that refused to let go.

The camera recorded the massacre as it happened. Filing away each death to be viewed later. After the men left it recorded for five more minutes until there was no additional motion. It signed off with J.C. on his knees, staring straight ahead, his back to the camera and it didn't come back on for two more hours and only then to catch the motion of him finally falling over, still holding Claude's hand.

The next bout of activity was in the dark and was a mix of flashlight beams and rushed silhouettes. A woman, most likely Karen, collapsing, and though the camera provided no audio, her screams still resonated. The miracle of finding someone alive was almost more than they could take. You could see the small body being held then eventually rushed inside, his head bobbing in it's weakness. How is it possible that he survived. And how much destruction had he seen? How much will did he have to live?

"His hand, my hand," J.C. gasped as he finished his narrative. "We—" but with his catharsis done, his story told, he had nothing left to hold onto and he succumbed to what emotion he had left, which was nothing more than raw grief, anger, and turbulence and he began to scream.

He had been sitting on the floor, his legs crossed, but now he was on his knees and tipped forward, his forehead against the floor much like he had been in Iggy's office the day he said he had wanted to die. But this time he wasn't clawing at the floor, it was as if all of the fight had left him, his attachment and connection to the world had just marched out and abandoned him. He rolled around on the floor in agony as his audience stood overwhelmed and uncertain.

Iggy ran over to him and knelt on the floor and took J.C. into his arms and held him. "I've got you Jason, I've got you. You're safe, I've got you." He continued to repeat the mantra as Aaron and the other aides rounded up the kids and herded them towards the room used for group therapy as another doctor was paged to go talk with them about what they had just witnessed.

After several minutes of assurances by Iggy and sobs from J.C., the boy looked looked up and made an attempt to control his breathing. Finally as his breaths slowly unhitched themselves, he looked to his doctor and spoke. "I want my Dad."

"Then we'll get you your dad." Iggy promised, pulling his phone from his pocket much like Max had that night so many months before as his son had collapsed into his lap after his world had come crashing down on top of him.

 _ **Meanwhile at Karen's apartment**_

"Max? What are you doing here?" Karen asked, pushing her hair out of her face.

"You texted me," he said holding up his phone as he did. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I just woke up, that's all. How's J.C.?" She asked bleary eyed.

"Taking it one day at a time. How are you doing? Have you talked to anyone?"

"Me? Sure. Lot's of people," she lied.

Max looked around at the small apartment, which was strewn with clothing and wrappers. It looked as if Karen hadn't thrown anything in the trash since returning from California weeks ago. "Why don't you come with me and talk to one of my best people. He'll get you set up on a regular schedule to talk to someone. Try and work through this."

"I don't need that Max. I didn't almost die like J.C.. The things he saw—my experience can't compare." She said as she flopped down on a the couch, knocking trash off of it as she did.

"It doesn't have to. What happened to you when they took you away?" Max asked as he sat down next to her.

"Um," she began and then cleared her throat. "They had casualties that we fixed up."

"It was more than that. Tell me." He encouraged.

"We live and die with lies Max. Half the time we don't know the lies from the truth or the truth from the lies. Often I'm not even sure if I'm even living.

"You were right—that day in your office. You said I so often look at the goal at the end of the road that I trample over everything in my desire to get there. I trampled over you, over our son.

"We could have been great together, but I pushed you away, because you saw practicality where I saw challenges. I was so hellbent on distancing myself from my parents—showing them that I was better that I forgot about everything and everyone around me. Somehow I believed if I kept my eye on the prize and sprinted towards it, everything would turn out as I wanted it to—that I would find answers to questions that I wasn't even aware existed. That somehow there would be some kind of trophy or award if I just kept racking up good deeds. Now I realize that it was like crossing the street without looking, only J.C. is the one that got run over." 

Max digested what Karen said as he looked at her wilted form. "You did great things. You gave of yourself over and over. Regardless of your reasons, what you have done in your life is impressive and I don't believe that you deserve all that self-flagellation. You are good person, who came from a difficult home life. You turned out pretty damn well if you ask me."

"We would have made a great team you and I," she said, wiping a tear away. "We had this awesome kid, our education, the desire to help the world. But I couldn't see the forest for the trees."

"We had different ideas on how to help people. Neither of us was wrong, we just had diverse paths."

"And my path almost killed our son—almost killed me."

"Tell me what happened to you," Max encouraged.

"Does he know what happened to him?"

"He's working on it, he's seen it, he's processing it and he's in very good hands. But you are alone and not under the care you need to be."

"I—I thought he was dead Max. How could a mother leave her child behind? How could a mother believe that he was dead when he wasn't? What kind of person am I?

"He was right there. I was reaching for him, the man had his finger to his lips, shhh—my head, I hit my head and suddenly I was in the truck and I could hear them shooting and I heard screams. I tried to jump out of the back of the truck but a soldier stopped me. He just looked at me and laughed. He laughed in my face and I knew then, that there was true evil.

"We rode for what seemed like forever. Time had slipped into a different pattern or dimension. We pulled up to a small hospital that they had overrun. There were thirty or so casualties. Most shot or stabbed. Some we could help, some we couldn't. I could barely function. I just wanted to die. I knew that they had killed my son, our son. All I kept picturing was having to tell you and I just couldn't bear that. I went through the motions of helping only because I didn't want to put my coworkers at risk. But it didn't matter—in the end they still killed Peter and Lori. The things they did to the rest of us—I only spare you because I can't yet put words to it. The hatred and total disregard that these men had. As I looked at them I understood they were this way because of what they had seen and endured in their own past. But I couldn't feel anything but malice towards them." The words, heavy on her lips continued to fall rapidly, as she could no longer hold them back.

"I'm so sorry." Max said with sadness in his eyes.

"It was supposed to be fine. The rebels had been cleared out for months and months. But they had cut back on patrols—sent the forces to protect some damn diamond mine or something. It took no time for the factions to move back in. They took what they wanted because it was the only way they could ever get anything. Don't look at me with sympathy Max. I don't deserve it."

"Of course you do." Max said gently."

"When they were done with us they loaded us back up in the truck and drove for miles and dumped us in the middle of nowhere in the dark. Thankfully Dr. Streador knew his way around the stars and paid attention to the directions that we had gone. We walked for three hours before we came across the camp. We almost missed it since many of the lights that came on when it got dark had been shot out.

"What we saw—we, they," she sobbed. After taking a moment to recover she continued. "The air was still thick with terror, it was if we were breathing it, tasting it. It felt so heavy, like it was pushing us down. So many bodies, all gone, not a living soul. I couldn't find J.C. anywhere. The darkness was a blessing, birds hadn't been there to devour the remains yet. The flies had even gone home for the day. Most of the big cats lived in game parks outside of the area of our camp. I just stood there, unable to comprehend much of anything. Several had gone to the dorms to grab flashlights. Christian found him, he yelled out as soon as he saw his face. I raced over trying to decide how I wanted to die. Thinking that at that very moment you were blissfully unaware that your entire world was about to be upended, changed. Thinking that I just wanted to lay down and die next to him."

"But he was alive." Max interjected.

"He was. Christian felt for a pulse—through the blood, the muck. Do you know that dirt and blood turn into a bloody mud? Well that's what our son was covered in. But Dr. Streador said it may have been what saved his life, making a paste that helped stop the bleeding.

"It was awful Max. Christian picked him up as he tried not to step on any of the bodies nearby. J.C. was still holding Claude's hand. He was holding it so tightly. I kept coaxing him to let it go, begging him to release it. I pried and pried at his fingers until finally they released his friends hand," she paused, stuck in her memory before she returned her gaze to Max. "I pulled his fingers from his friends hand and Claude's dismembered arm tumbled to the ground."

Max squeezed his eyes shut as tears leaked out. He couldn't imagine the horror of the that day. How J.C. had managed to function at all was amazing. By all rights he should have shut down entirely.

"He was all alone, in pain, terrified and he wasn't even allowed to die." She paused. "He wouldn't let go of life, like he wouldn't let go of his friend. Even in unconsciousness he wouldn't let go of his friend. That has to mean something doesn't it?"

"Jesus," Max said, absentmindedly rubbing his head with his hands trying to envision a scene that included not only dead bodies, but dismembered body parts. The camera had revealed a lot, but not nearly everything. It explained why J.C. had been so resistant when it came to holding hands after he came home.

"The wounds, though far from superficial, hadn't been deep enough for immediate death. I believe the wounds on his arms were defensive—trying to help Claude, then himself. I know you can't tell for sure from the video—it's too far to see exactly what happened. I'm sure he went into shock pretty quickly. He lost a lot of blood, but not enough life had slipped away to let him go.

"Suddenly nothing I had endured mattered—only J.C.. I want you to tell him one thing for me."

"What's that?" Max asked.

"Those men—the men that did that to him, to Claude, Bette, all of them. They won't hurt anyone anymore."

"How do you know that?"

"You see Max. I'm not the person you thought you knew. Not now, maybe not ever."

"How do you know that they won't attack another camp? Another village?"

"Because, Max. I killed them all," she said as her head lolled over and went silent.

"Karen," Max said sliding over to catch her. "No. No. No. What did you take? You can't do this to him, to me. What did you take?"

But she was beyond hearing anyone. She had taken her guilt, her pain and was packing them up for travel to another world where hopefully she could check that baggage as such things weren't allowed and didn't exist. Max pulled out his phone and dialed 911 as he put it on speaker and laid it down. He then turned Karen on her side and pried her mouth open putting his fingers inside and fought to trigger her gag reflex. Her body shuddered and a brown liquid came out as she convulsed a few times. "Hang on, the ambulance is on its way," Max assured.

"No, Max, let me go." She mumbled

"No. J.C. can't lose you. You can't make me tell him that you are gone—that you left him. Do you have any idea what that would do to him?"

"I won't go to the hospital. Tell the ambulance to turn around. I'm fine."

"You are far from fine. You need help. Let me help you. Please Karen, let me help you." He begged.

Within ten minutes the ambulance did come. After vomiting up the contents that had caused her to begin to slip away she began to regain her sense of self and self control. She was thoroughly checked over and encouraged to go to the hospital, but she refused. Max gave his credentials and assured the paramedics that he had it under control, would take responsibility and was working on a placement for her.

As Max sat and held her, he wondered how so many bad things could happen to such good people.

"Tell me what happened." Max stated as he wrapped a blanket around Karen and handed her a hot mug of tea that he had made.

"It was if I was unable to move. I couldn't go forward or backwards or anywhere. You had brought J.C. back to New York and I was grateful for that. I realized that I had no idea what to do with myself. I didn't know what I'd do if I came back to the city. How would I react to J.C., to life in a place of normalcy. I didn't think I had anything positive to offer anyone. So I stayed and replayed it all over and over in my head.

"I helped bury the victims. I spoke to their families, apologized for things that we had no control over. I think the most appalling part was that most were so accepting of the violence—that it was a fact of life and bound to happen sooner or later. I think that was truly the worst of all.

"Even Kaguta, Bette's husband and Claude's father, seemed to let his anger and loss slip into the expectation of violence. How did the world become this fucked up?"

"I don't know," Max sighed thinking of all the casualties he had seen due to violence in the streets that he called home.

"I just kept thinking that since J.C. had been spared I owed the country something. But I had no idea what to do, so I sat and waited. It was Jeff that found them. Like me he had no idea what direction to go after the massacre. We took the camp down, moved thirty miles to the east, to a dormitory. We helped at a nearby hospital." She explained.

"Anyway, Jeff somehow had gotten intel that the rebels were holed up not far from where we were staying. We formulated a plan and then we carried it out."

"What was the plan?" Max croaked out, his throat suddenly dry.

"It's scary as to exactly how simple it was. It's even scarier that we thought of it and carried it out."

 _ **Uganda several months earlier**_

"You're sure this is the right group?" Karen asked as she swiped a bug away from her face.

"As if it really matters. They're all the same. They kill, maim, hate. But yes, this is them. Take a look if you don't believe me. I will never forget the faces of those that began to kill as we pulled away. Plus I know the one guy that shoved me around had a scar on his forehead that snaked its way downward. I'll never forget that face, those cold eyes." Jeff said. "Those eyes that dared to look straight at me as he—he held me at gunpoint and..."

But he couldn't finish his sentiment and they all knew why. It was hard enough to recall it, even harder to speak of it, most especially for the men who never expected to be victimized in that way.

"Don't you wonder what made them this way?" Karen asked as she squatted down next to the small building.

"I'm sorry their life was full of hardships, but they killed twenty-two people and meant to kill your son. They took their hardships and deposited them on others and that is not okay. We need to remember that they took away two wonderful people that dedicated their lives to others. How many will suffer because of that?" Carl stated.

Karen took in a deep breath and popped up and looked in one of the windows. She had to see for herself, she had to know, to be certain. Jeff had tracked them down. Carl had ensured Jeff had been right and Mona had just come along for the ride, fearing if she didn't respond in some physical way, she would never heal. The thought amused Karen, thinking that taking something was going to give you something back. But she too, bought into the vengeance factor and thus hefted the gas can up and began to pour.

"It's them. I don't even think I need to see. I feel it. My son will never be the same, our relationship may not survive and they had no right—no right."

"But if we do this, who are we?" Mona asked.

"We're survivors. We're protectors. What injustice would we be responsible for if we left them alive to do it all over again? And mark my words, they will do it again. And again. And again." Jeff said.

"Let's go secure the doors," Carl said to Jeff as they crouched down without reason, but it just seemed appropriate to do so.

Mona and Karen continued to pour out the fuel, the fumes making their throat sore and their eyes water. Karen thought of J.C. as well as Bette and Claude, while Mona thought of nothing, fearing that if she did, she would be unable to continue.

The windows that had been cut into this large shed-like structure were small and appeared to be constructed as an afterthought. They were rectangles, that even a small child would be trapped behind. They didn't open and if they were broken would be less than helpful in an escape attempt. The generator coughed on the other side of the building and they prayed it would continue to chug out enough energy to keep the small air conditioner humming and the lights on. The men inside had the music cranked up that the group outside needn't fear any noise that they made would be heard.

"Door is secured." Carl said as he came found Karen. "The hole that contains the air conditioner might be big enough to allow them to escape, but Mona doused the generator next to it with a lot of fuel, it should go up fast, thus deterring them from exiting. The only door is padlocked and we shoved that huge log against it. The rest of the windows are too small and Jeff is tossing up gas soaked rags up on the roof."

"Who wants the honor?" Jeff asked as he came back around.

The three looked at each other silently decided if they could do it and if not who should. "All of us," Mona said taking four wooden matches from the box. Carl who had fashioned four Molotov cocktails, handed them out as if they were beers he had just procured from the nearest bar. "For a little extra kick," he said.

 _ **Present time**_

"We just stood there and watched it burn. I heard them screaming, clawing to get out. The place went up so fast, faster than we anticipated. Suddenly it was over. It hardly took any time at all. So many lives lost in so little time—somehow it seemed fitting. They had killed so many in minutes and then we did the same. What had blackened their souls, now blackened ours. But we couldn't leave without some kind of justice—right or wrong we couldn't walk away. What they did to us—and not just the women but the men too. After we helped them they did that to us. When they were done they cut off Peter and Lori's heads," she said, her voice shaking in its recollection. "They held them in front of us like macabre puppeteers. They didn't get to live. Not after that. I could hear them scream and I didn't even care. At that moment I wasn't sure when I felt more powerful—when I was saving lives or when I was taking them.

"When we had found J.C. alive, it changed everything—it gave us a little hope to build on. Everything had been ripped from us but here he was alive against all odds. Bloody, near-death, but alive. But I think he knew he was the centerpiece of our mentality. His survival meant everything. And that's a lot of pressure for a ten year old boy. Not much easier on an eleven year old boy either. Did you celebrate his birthday?" She asked suddenly changing the subject to something so normal that it jarred Max. 

Max blinked and looked back at his ex. "Just dinner out, a trip to Central Park, nothing big. He didn't want to do much, Georgia had to push him just for the outings we did accomplish."

"Max, those men took my dignity, my morality but they didn't get my son, not all of him anyway—and most of all, I helped to make sure they never got a chance to hurt anyone ever again. Somewhere in my mind they turned from someone who had once been victimized to the killers that they were, not deserving of any redemption."

"Maybe, you were their redemption."

"Perhaps, I don't know. I don't even know who I am anymore. There's so much evil in the world. So many bad souls."

"Yes, unfortunately there are. But together we created a beautiful one."

"We did, didn't we?" She said smiling at Max. "I tried to get him out," she blurted out suddenly. "You have to believe me—I tried. I did."

"I believe you."

"It's just that they came before I could get us out." She said and went to explain that everything had happened so fast and their ride had still been a day away.

Max blew a mouthful of air out after she had told him the details. "I just wanted to leave something behind that was worthwhile. Some kind of legacy. But in the end I left my son's health in a scrub brush infested desert and a puddle of blood. I also left my own ethics and decency, they burned away along with those men."

Max's phone vibrated and called out some song that J.C. had selected as the ringtone before he had gone into the hospital. Each time it rang it gave Max a little bit of hope that his son would come back to him. Reluctantly he took a quick peek at the phone and saw that it was Iggy. "I have to take this, it's J.C.'s doctor." Karen nodded her understanding as she took a drink of her now, cold tea. "He did what? Is he okay? Of course. I'm on my way," Max said hanging up and slipping his phone in his pocket. "I have to go. J.C. remembered and shared everything. Iggy has him, says he's okay but is asking for me."

"Can I come? I just need to see him. I don't care if he sees me, I just want to be near him. I won't get in the way, I promise. Please Max. I really need this."

After Iggy called his father and sat with him, calming him down, reminding him how to breathe slowly, in and out with purpose, J.C. asked for some time alone. The other kids had already been ushered out of the room and Iggy understood the need for privacy, but told a nurse and an aide to hang around just out of sight as he left the small common room. He looked back to see J.C. sitting on a large bean bag chair in the corner, his eyes glazed and unfocused, his shoulders slumping, looking as if he had suddenly deflated.

J.C. sighed, hearing the air in his ears as it departed his body. He had remembered so much and he hated it. It had felt like surgery with out anesthesia and now he was sore and worn out. He leaned back only to have Mikey pop up from behind the chair where had apparently been hiding.

"Jeez dude, you scared me," J.C. said.

"Sorry," the formerly mute boy said.

"You can talk?"

"Of course I can talk."

"Then why haven't you?" J.C. asked.

"Because, if I do, I'm afraid they'll send me back to my mom and I just can't do that—not again."

"So, they'll keep you here if you're not talking—I get it."

"I like it here. People are nice, there's food, school, clean clothes."

J.C. suddenly felt very selfish. Yes, he had been through a gruesome experience, but he had a father, mother and step-mother who loved him and provided for his needs, often above their own. As he looked at Mikey, his heart broke for the boy who had nobody but the staff in these halls that cared about him.

"Do they know where your mom is?"

Mikey shrugged. "I don't know."

J.C. was pretty sure he knew the answer to his next question and probably shouldn't ask it, but perhaps by doing so it would help him realize how much that he had to hold onto. It was self-serving and he hoped that the desire to ask would pass, but it didn't and the words tumbled from his mouth. "What about your dad?" Somehow by asking it made his own father's presence that much more meaningful.

Mikey seemed to sense what his friend was getting at. "I have no idea. I'm not as lucky as you. I've never met my father or even know who he is."

"Oh, okay. Sorry," J.C. replied quietly. "I—I, I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay."

"What about foster care?"

"I've been in some good foster homes, some bad ones. This place is the only one that I have felt okay in. Even in a good foster home, you are waiting to be moved or reunified with your parent. That's what they call it—reunification."

"I'm sorry. What happened to you?" J.C. asked as Mikey slid down into the bean bag chair next to him.

"Nothing like what happened to you."

"Probably worse," he offered.

Mikey shrugged. "We're both survivors."

"But you had to survive someone who was supposed to love you."

"I think she did at one time, but the drugs made it all hazy for her, like she forgot about what's right and wrong and how she was supposed to love me and protect me. She snorted stuff, injected other stuff or maybe it was the same stuff, I don't know. We got kicked out of our apartment because she didn't pay the rent and we would spend nights at places that were gross. She'd forget to feed me, buy me clothes. I'd miss school. When she was sober she would apologize, make promises, promises that she'd forget during her next high, which was usually later that day or night.

"When someone would notice the problems, they'd take me away from her and she'd get sober, find some kind of job, a place to live and the cycle would start all over again. To get drugs, she'd use me as payment. Sometimes herself, but she'd get high so fast, she would be worthless. Not much excitement to someone who was passed out, so it would be on me."

J.C. didn't understand what his friend meant, but was too afraid to ask. He was well schooled in the needs of third world nations but knew nothing about many of the tragedies closer to home.

"Be glad that you don't know what I mean," Mikey said seeing his friends confusion.

"Sex?" J.C. asked tentatively.

"Yeah," Mikey replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm so sorry. Maybe if I talk to Dr. Frome he'll keep you here. Do you think your mom knows that you're here?"

The other boy shrugged. "She'll want me back if she does. She'll play the game, get the job, the apartment etc. The first few times I was excited that she wanted me back—I thought she loved me, that she would change. Dr. Frome told me that she does love me, but I know that she loves the drugs more.

"Now I don't want her to even try to get me back. But I never have a choice. I mean, how screwed up is that? It's all about me, but I have no say. I wish Dr. Frome would know that I need to stay here."

"That's pretty messed up."

"You're dad talked to me a few times. He was nice. Is he a doctor here? Can he talk to Dr. Frome too?"

J.C. seemed to wake up from trying to absorb his friends plight. "Yeah. He does. In fact he's more than a doctor."

"What does that mean?"

"He's the medical director."

"What's that mean?" He repeated.

"It means that he's the boss. It means that we can ask him to keep you here. To listen to what you want. But you might have to talk."

Mikey chewed on his lip, uncertain if he wanted to give up on his plan so easily. J.C. sensed his reluctance. "We can wait and see. No rush. But I promise that I will try and help you."

"You like to help people don't you?"

His words were like a slap in the face. Here he was, his cathartic moment only minutes before, already focusing on someone else. It was a crutch he clearly couldn't let go. Would that help him? Hurt him? Would he have to change or could he learn to balance it all just as his parents seemed to.

"Don't worry about me. Tonight is about you. You need to help yourself. You won't get better if you don't. Meredith is getting better. I heard she is supposed to move up to Green Level soon. You need to get better so you can join her. I'll be okay. But if you wanted to help me—well, that would be great."

"He's over here," they both heard Iggy say. "Mikey? How did you get in here? I thought everyone had been

sent to the other room?"

Mikey just shrugged as Max came around the corner. Mikey stopped and looked at him, hoping to see something in the man that matched what J.C. had just told him. Max looked over at the boy and gave a slight nod and smile but continued forward.

J.C. watched as Mikey slowed as he eyed his father, his gait, hesitant, hopeful, clinging to the promise that had just been extended. He hoped that they could help this kid, he needed it, so many needed it. But Mikey was here and within reach. Besides, if J.C. could still throw out life rings to others in need, then it meant he wasn't drowning. Right?

Once Mikey was out of sight, J.C. looked up at his father, whose face he couldn't quite decipher. There was sadness, tenderness, general angst—and exhaustion. His eye lids drooped with fatigue, his skin seemed loose, the hat atop his head was skewed. This was his fault, he had heaped all of this stress atop of man who had been up to his eyeballs in random disasters, brought by health, relationships, jobs and newborns. And then there was him, with his PTSD, dramatic outbursts, random suicide threats, and treatment that was a constant back and forth motion. Sometimes he just wanted to go for a walk and never come back. But as J.C. was busy berating himself Max scooped him up and held him so tightly that for the first time in nearly a year he felt safe. He melted in his father's arms and set aside everything that had built up and brewed over the months. He felt fully protected, surrounded by unconditional and unwavering love. It was then that he let the tears flow once again, but even he was unsure if they were tears of pain or of relief.

After several minutes, J.C. looked up at Max and wiped his tears away. "I remembered Dad. I remembered what happened."

"I heard. How did it make you feel?" He prompted.

"Sad, mad, helpless. I wish I could have helped those people. I wish I knew why I didn't die."

"Sometimes there are things that we aren't to know or ever find out."

"Before I got here I heard people say I just needed to move on, but how do I just move on without them?"

"I wouldn't say you that you need to move on—but you do need to move forward. Don't forget them or their fate, but don't let it dictate a lost life. Do you know what I'm saying?"

J.C. nodded. "I can have a bit of both. I can go on and live my life and remember and honor the victims."

"Exactly."

"I feel like they are shadows that follow me. I see them out of the corner of my eye. I see them around the corner. I feel them behind me. I can't bear to tell them to go away, but I don't want them to stay either. Do you think they'll ever leave?"

"I think they will. When they're ready. When you're ready."

"Mom?" J.C. said as he slid off the beanbag chair where he had been sitting next to Max. He got up and looked towards the hallway where Karen had been standing, thinking she was still in her own shadows. She hadn't intended for J.C. to see her, but she just wanted to hear his voice for a minute. Now he was walking towards her, his head cocked to one side as if he wasn't sure what he was seeing. She held her breath as he glided closer still studying her and uncertain that what he was seeing was in fact real. But once he was ten feet away he broke into a run and she felt confident enough to open her arms and welcomed him.

She held him and murmured her love and all of her best intentions into his ear. Max finally eased up next to them. "I'm sorry, I just needed—well I just needed him."

Max nodded, understanding. He looked at two people who were shattered by a common, yet different experience. An experience that left them to fight for absolutely everything that they had once taken for granted.

J.C. hadn't seen his mother since before he had been hospitalized. He had thought of her, and though his love never wavered, he wasn't certain of his emotions. His recent recollection helped settle his confusion of her desertion both in Africa and afterwards. She had been through a nightmare of her own, her soul stretched to the limit. As memories took hold he saw her bleeding scalp, but it was the desperation in her face that made him realize that no matter what he had endured, she had dealt with more.

Knowing that he would always see things behind his eyelids that nobody else would. He also knew the same would be true for his mother. He looked up at her seeing her almost as if for the first time. He saw with his eyes and memories that she had tried to get to him, cried out for him, the look on her face of pure terror as she was pulled away from him. He knew that she had done everything she could to stay with him that day. He blinked his eyes as he saw her getting hit on the head, blood streaming down her face as she was picked up and tossed into the truck.

"So you remembered some things that happened?" She asked gently.

J.C. nodded. "More than I wanted to. I know that they're far away, but I'm not sure if I feel safe yet. What about the people that live there now. What if those men just keep hurting people?"

"They won't. I can promise you that."

"How do you know? You can't promise that."

"I do know. And I can promise it. You'll just have to trust me."

J.C. looked up at Karen's face, fragile, yet determined and somehow he did trust her assurances. Her face relayed more stories and heartache then anyone's should and because it did, J.C. knew that she had seen so much more than he initially imagined and more than she would ever tell him.

"You know that you shine like a star and are everything that is beautiful." Karen said.

"You're my mom so you have to say stuff like that."

"I say stuff like that because it is true and don't you ever forget it."

 _ **Soundtrack:**_

 _ **The 7 and the Fall by Jesse Marchant ~ as J.C. tells his story**_

 _ **In the Air Tonight by Natalie Taylor ~ as Karen tells of her revenge**_

 _ **Let Her Go by Passenger ~ as Max listens to Karen**_


	23. Knights and Dragons

**Knights and Dragons**

J.C.'s catharsis was the beginning, but only the beginning. There was still so much to deal with and more memories to surface. In the months ahead, recollections came to him in spurts, some relieved him others traumatized him. Heads falling to the ground with eyes that were still blinking. Flies that wouldn't go away. Begging for death to take him away. Knowing that the hand he was holding was no longer tethered to his best friend.

He slowly trudged forward, though sometimes it seemed as if he was pulling a piano behind him. He eventually made it to Green Level just after Meredith had been released. He was allowed to write her the old fashioned way and her return letters brightened his days. He liked being allowed to wear his own clothes, follow a more typical routine, and be back in class. He was catching up quickly with the small class size and extra one on one attention from the teachers.

He still met with Iggy three times a week. And Aaron would even stop by for short conversations before he left for the day. All in all, huge progress, but Iggy felt he wasn't quite there yet. He wasn't sure what it was that he would see when it happened, but he trusted he would know.

Two weeks later Max's leg jiggled like a piston hammering the floor as he looked at the clock for tenth time in less that a minute. "He's not late. He has five more minutes," Iggy assured as he looked up from some paperwork on his desk.

"Maybe I should text him."

"He's still a patient Max, he doesn't have his phone."

"Oh, yeah," Max replied. "Is this good that he wants me here or bad?"

The last time that J.C. had wanted Max to attend a session he had declared a name change. "I'm not J.C., he died in Uganda." The words came out soft, quietly, as if a feather had fallen.

Max was already on the verge of panic at hearing those words. But Iggy remained calm. "Then who are you? Who are you now?" He asked just as softly.

"I'm Jason. Or Jace or Jay. But never J.C., never again."

"Okay then. Nice to meet you Jason."

After the session Max spoke with Iggy concerned his son was drifting away. But Iggy assured him this latest declaration was a good thing. He was separating himself from the trauma of that day. It would never leave him, but he could distance himself from it. He was taking steps, in his own way, in his own time. Max felt like it was watching his son learn to walk all over again, but this time the falls would be much harder to bear. It was one day at time, each and every day. Something that may very well follow them for the rest of their lives. But now, he didn't know what to expect. What his son had in store for him. This whole ordeal had been beyond words, but breaking the news about Georgia's death to him was the single hardest thing that Max had ever done. It had put Jason's recovery back weeks, but then, after the initial shock, it seemed to be the driving force towards his recovery.

As the time was within sixty seconds of the appointment, Jason walked in. "Right on time," Iggy said as he glanced at Max with an I-told-you-so-look.

"Hey buddy," Max greeted moving over on the couch to make room for his son.

"I figured out what I wanted to say to those men who killed everyone." He announced as he sat down. "Once you asked me what I would say to them and I collapsed, and—and well, I wasn't able to tell you. But now I know. I'm stronger and ready to say it."

"And what are you ready to say?" Iggy asked.

"I'm not dead. You tried to kill me but I'm not dead. And because I'm not, all those other people will always be alive inside me. I will live for them, I will live because of them." He said stealing a glance at Max.

"I think that's great. You're right, those people will never leave you, not completely, but now you have the strength and are prepared to carry them and the memory of their existence. And I'm sure that they are very proud of you and how far you've come."

"Just as I am," Max added.

Iggy nodded and smiled, pleased that Jason had come to terms with being a survivor. But he still felt that there was another step. He just wasn't sure how long it would take the boy to get there. But just as he was deciding what to say next, he realized he didn't have to say anything or wait very long.

"I had that dream last night...the one where I'm drowning." Jason said as he looked down at the floor.

"Where you can't get to the surface?" Iggy asked as Max look confused.

"Yeah that one. I never break free from what is keeping me under."

"How did your dream end?" Iggy asked as Max was trying to understand having never heard about the dream before.

"I could see the faces at the surface. I felt like I was closer to the top than ever. I just focused on what was ahead of me and not what was holding me back. And suddenly nothing was. My foot was free, nothing was holding me. I got to the surface and I saw Claude and his mother. They were both smiling at me and there were more people behind them. Claude had the soccer ball in his hand and he just stood there smiling at me, like it was the best day ever. As I tread water looking at them, he waved and then turned with his mother and disappeared into the crowd of people behind them. I looked down at the water and when I looked up again, my mom and dad and even Georgia were on the dock waiting for me. Then I woke up—and I could breathe. I could breathe." He repeated.

Iggy instantly knew this is what he had been waiting to hear. Jason would never be technically or completely healed, but he was well on his way to peace of mind that he hadn't enjoyed in a very long time.

Two weeks later—

The older gentleman looked down into the water and the remote controlled yacht that bobbed in the water waiting for direction. His hand gripped the black controller, the knobs and toggles waited to be twisted and pushed.

"Don't you want to make it go?" Jason asked as he looked down at the motionless boat having walked over to stand next to the man.

"I don't think I'll be very good at it. I bought it for my grandson. I hear they have races and courses for these things."

"Does he come here a lot?"

"Every day this week. He must like it here. It is beautiful." The man said as he looked across the water.

"Yeah, Central Park is one of my favorite places. I've been here every day this week too. I couldn't come for a long time so I'm trying to make up for lost time. Does your grandson like that stuff?" Jason said looking at the boat.

"I honestly don't know." He said looking over at Jason, noticing the scar on his neck.

Jason looked up and saw the man staring. The gentleman quickly turned his head and apologized.

"It's okay. I have some on my arms too," he said holding his bare arms up. "Everybody looks at them. I used to be embarrassed by them, but I'm not anymore. They're my marks of survival."

"It must have been a horrible situation."

"They came from something that started out being good. Then obviously it got really bad. But in the end, I saw goodness again. So I guess, in the end, goodness won out."

"Well, I'm glad for that," the gentleman said as the boat banged against a rock. "Would you like to drive it?"

"Oh, no thank you. I would be afraid that I would wreck it or sink it."

"How about I give it to you, then if you wreck it or sink it, it will be yours."

"Nah, no thank you. I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't take gifts from people I don't know. Give it to your grandson."

"I don't get to see him."

Jason stood, staring across the water as if he was looking at pictures only he could see. "Save it. Maybe one day, you won't be strangers."

Nearby as Karen looked over and saw her son speaking with the man she turned and quickly walked that direction before a woman stepped in her way. "Please Karen. Please let them have a moment. That's all we ask for is a minute."

"But you didn't ask did you? Because you never do. You only assume and take what you believe to be yours regardless of that fact that it isn't yours to take. Jason, let's go kiddo, we have to meet your dad." She yelled.

"Gotta go. Drive it around, learn how to use it. In order to get good at stuff you have to practice." Jason looking at the man.

"I guess you're right about that."

"My mom says that life is all about practicing the right things—like being nice and a good person. We should practice being nice. And my dad says that it takes courage to live and do the right thing. He says we should leave something good behind."

"You're parents are very wise people."

"I know. Know what my dad said is the best thing he is leaving behind?"

"No, what?" The man asked as he bent down to look Jay in the eyes.

"Me."

"Jason. Now please!" Karen yelled trying to get around the woman who had impeded her path.

"We know why he was hospitalized. What you both went through," the woman said.

"You know nothing. That's what you chose so long ago—ignorance." Karen spat back as she pleaded for her son to hurry.

"I gotta go. Hopefully one day courage will take you to your grandson. It's more than just doing something outside of your comfort zone, it can be about changing yourself too. Sometimes what's bruised and broken can make you whole. A great doctor told me that once. But first you have to admit you that you were bruised and broken to begin with."

Jason ran over to Karen who had moved away from the woman she had been talking to. "Who was that? Did he tell you his name?" She asked in a rush.

He looked at over at his mother and smiled. "No, he didn't tell me his name. He didn't have to."

They walked out of the park and onto the street. Jason was busy looking around, taking everything in, joyous at being in the world again with it's bright colors, noise, restlessness and unpredictability. He had been out of the hospital for a week and Iggy had told her and Max that he may have trouble with uncertainties of the world, many patients did, struggling after coming from such a regimented environment. But Jason had embraced all of it, smiling at the idiosyncrasies of the city, the pace that it set for its residents and tourists alike. The squeaking of brakes, the honking horns of the cabs, the bloops of the sirens attached to emergency vehicles that despite their best efforts could go no faster than the traffic in front of them allowed. He was home, it was his and he was eager to be a part of it once again.

Max had even taken a few days off. They visited the Statue of Liberty, the American Museum of Natural History and even one day took the train to Baltimore and visited the National Aquarium. Jason had wanted to go there for his eleventh birthday, but that idea was before his trip to Uganda which seemed to set aside every desire and adventure that he had previously wanted to undertake. But as Max trailed behind his son with his face that was so often pressed against the glass in the amazing display of all of the marine life, he felt as if there was a light at the end of the tunnel. As his mouth opened wide in amazement at the skittish movements and water ballet that was put on display, he saw his son once again engaged in the world around him. When he pointed at stingrays and sharks, or sat down next to one of the jellyfish tanks, with its small colorful orbs swaying in a breeze only they felt, Max felt a tug that everything just might be okay. Perhaps he was back on the path. Or perhaps he was simply filling a void, keeping the memories away by immersing himself in anything and everything that wasn't painful.

Karen remained silent as they walked, more because she had no idea what to say. She was still getting through the shock of seeing her parents. It had been years since she had even spoken to them, much less seen them. But there they were attempting to insert themselves into her sons life. Max had told her about their visit when she was in California. She figured after their failed attempt they would just return to their lives and once again forget about her and J.C.. But there they were and she still wasn't sure if J.C. knew who they were or not.

The whole thing had left her unsettled. After seeing J.C. or Jason, as she had struggled to remember to use his updated name choice. She was happy that Jace was an approved alternative as she often began to call him J.C. but as her tongue raised to pronounce the C she could elongate it to form Jace. But after that evening with Max and then J.C. at the hospital, the night that she badly wanted to die, while at the same time wanted so desperately to live, she checked herself into another hospital for inpatient treatment. She chose an alternative facility not wanting Max to bear any responsibility for her care, not out of fear or concern, but out of respect, respect that he had more than enough on his plate to have any concern or dealings with her treatment plan.

After two weeks of inpatient care, and seeing a therapist twice a week after her discharge, she was in a better place now than she had been for months. Like Jason, she still had nightmares and triggers, but she found she could once again see goodness in the world.

She and Max had been meeting once a week to discuss their son and his achievements as well as his failures. They knew he needed a team made up of everyone that loved him and would be able to see things someone else might not. They relied on each other, friends, coworkers and neighbors, to all monitor Jason's behavior and any mannerisms that seemed off. He had endured bumps but someone had always been there to catch him before he spiraled too far too fast.

She looked up the street when Jason had raced ahead screaming for his dad. She saw Max in front of a small bookstore, plain brown bag in his hands. "Hey kiddo," he said wrapping his arms around the boy and lifting him up off the pavement briefly. "I got you the next book in that series about the knights and dragons you like." He said as he set him down. Since he had moved to the Green Level at the hospital he had immersed himself in books about long ago times and magical places. About hero's, heroines and era's where good and evil were easy to understand. It was a place where the good guys always won. One of the books came with a small plastic knight and dragon. Jason often tucked the knight into one pocket and the dragon in another. Sometimes he took them out and held them in his hands, other times he simply patted his pockets, feeling their power through the fabric. Iggy said it was a positive way to deal with his emotions and to help him feel in control. What they represented to him was his own personal revelation and would stay that way until he felt otherwise.

"Yay," he yelled out. "Can I get a pretzel?" The boy asked as he looked over at the food cart nearby.

"Sure," Max said handing off a five dollar bill, relieved that the eating disorder seemed to be far behind them. Well, mostly anyway. He had gained weight, and every meal wasn't a battle, but it still was occasionally used as a weapon for his frustration and rage. That, and at times memories were triggered and sent him into a zone where nausea and the anorexia came to roost and food was once again the enemy. But he would recover, sometimes in hours, sometimes days. But he was learning to reach out, to hear the words he was being told, to embrace them, to use them to calm down, to get through each day and make it better than the last.

"Hey," Max greeted Karen, still unsure what the proper greeting was for his ex. A peck on the cheek? A quick hug? She didn't appear to know either so it always made for an awkward hello. In the end he gave her a brief embrace before he stepped back and looked over at their son.

Karen quickly got his attention as she explained to him what happened at the park. She admitted that she hadn't spoken with Jason about it on their walk over. She had tried, but nothing that she came up with seemed to make any sense, so they just walked in silence. She wasn't sure what he did or didn't know about the gentleman that he had spoken with.

"Well, we'll find out," Max promised as Jason came back with a pretzel in hand. "Hey, buddy, your mom told me about the man at the park."

"What man?" He asked as he tore of a chunk of his pretzel and handed a piece to both Max and Karen.

"The man with the boat," Max prompted. "Did you know him?" He asked as he took the piece of pretzel.

"You mean my grandfather? Can I have a lemonade too?" Jason asked easily switching gears as his parents stood dumbfounded.

"You knew he was your grandfather?" Karen asked.

"Yeah, he's your dad. Right? Yes or no for the lemonade? I'm thirsty."

"How did you know?" Karen asked. "Had he approached you before?"

"No, Google, duh." He said rolling his eyes as if he couldn't believe his parents were so naive.

Max handed him a couple more bills and the watched as he marched back to the small food cart seemingly unaffected by what they had just discussed.

"Google?" Karen asked.

"I don't know," Max replied. "He didn't have much access to the internet at the hospital, but once he went to the Green Level and to classes he was able to use a computer."

With time, patience and a lot of talk therapy, Jason got through the steps to move forward and finally out of New Amsterdam. He learned how to cage his rage as Iggy had put it. Not that he was told to hold his anger back, but more of how to deal with it in appropriate ways. To lock it in the cage and then let it out in a controlled manor. He had been taught to meditate, breathe, count to ten when he got angry, to discuss his frustrations and punch pillows when simply nothing else would do. Max had seen him touch his fingers to his thumb over and over in an effort to breathe and get through flashbacks that had blindsided him. Whatever worked and caused no harm was what they went with.

Both Max and Karen ensured he knew that he could talk about them about everything without judgment or fear of punishment. Max had primary custody, but the visitation schedule with Karen was pretty loose. She had dealt with her own demons in her own way. She followed much the same protocol as her son, meditating at least once a day and always before bed if she had any chance of sleeping.

Despite some great therapy, she found that she couldn't reveal every trauma she had endured. It was only Max that was aware of the murderous arson that she had been involved in. It was something that she would carry with his help and only his help. But every time she saw her son smile, or saw him at all, she knew that it was something that had to be done. It had been her responsibility as a mother and human being, to protect those that came behind her. She owed it to all of those that had fallen as much as she owed to her child. They may not have known what had been done but she found that she no longer questioned right from wrong, it was simply a safety measure in her mind. It was her job to protect those she loved, her patients, her family, her coworkers and she most certainly couldn't love people that saw no issue with taking lives because they simply got in their way on one particular day. Despite her efforts, she couldn't completely wash it all away, but she dealt with it and no longer cried at the memory.

Jason came back slurping his lemonade through a straw. "Hey, when did you google your mom's parents?" Max asked.

He shrugged and twisted his lips in thought. "A while ago."

"Why?" Karen asked.

"I don't know. I think it was after I saw my other grandparents. I was just curious. No big deal. But they did say nice things about you Mom."

"Oh they did?"

"Yeah. It was in an article, something about you making them proud by going overseas and helping those most in need."

Both adults raised their eyebrows and nodded. "Did he say he wanted to see you again?" Karen asked.

"No. He's not ready. I don't know that he ever will be. But if he is or if she is," he said speaking of his grandmother who he had noticed on his way to the pond, "maybe we should say yes. Give them a chance. Remember we're supposed to be nice. If they're not, well then that's on them."

"Out of the mouths of babes," Max said.

"See, I listen to you. Can we go to Washington Square?" He said before he went back to sipping his drink and ripping a chunk out of his pretzel.

A week later as Karen held her breath, waiting for Jason, which was now a lot easier to say, in fact she embraced the name change as J.C. had truly been a dig towards her parents and she really wanted a fresh start as well. But as she waited for him to get out of school she had thought about that afternoon and what a beautiful soul her son had become. She gave a lot of that credit to Max and Georgia. They had done an amazing job guiding him before and after Uganda. Georgia's loss had left a tremendous hole in all their lives. Karen had gone back and found the article that Jason had spoken of. It did mention her, something about how she represented their strong beliefs in helping others less fortunate. So yes, in a roundabout way they had complimented her, but in a very narcissistic and self-centered way—their specialty. And helping the less fortunate was never in their wheelhouse. They hadn't made any attempts since that day to contact her or her son. She hadn't been sure if it had been effort to insert themselves into their lives for some reason or to remind her that they could still disrupt her life if they so chose. Was the meeting a way to start something or to end it? She still hadn't figure out how they knew they'd be there and that fact scared her the most of all. She had wondered what Max had said to them that night. He never went into details and she had never asked. And despite her son wanting to play nice in the world, which was truly a beautiful thing, she hoped her parents would stay in the shadows. But perhaps it was a lesson of learning to let go of what has hurt you, but to always leave room for new opportunities.

Today had been his first day back in school. They had all decided that a couple of weeks of acclimating to the world would be a good idea before he was thrust back into the jungle known as middle school. Meredith had promised to be waiting for him and Karen had hoped the girl was true to her word, she didn't think that Jason couldn't handle another rejection.

She felt her phone buzz and pulled it from her pocket to see it was a text from Max asking how school had gone. She responded that she was still waiting for Jason. As she put the phone back into her pocket she heard the first rush of students pour through the doors, their voices carrying through the breeze, their energy enveloping her. She stood on her tiptoes, even though it was totally unnecessary, but she could no longer stand completely still. Kids parted as they rushed past her, their chatter assaulting her ear drums as she looked for her son. She bounced on her toes and finally caught sight of him. He was smiling and it reminded her so much of a day so long ago when he was a Kindergartner and was running to her with a picture that he had drawn. But today, there was no picture in his grasp, but there was Meredith, and she was right next to him as promised. Now it was her turn to smile, a small victory, a huge victory, she wasn't sure, but it was a victory and one that they all needed.

Soundtrack: Leave something behind Sean Rowe when Jason is with his grandfather


	24. Just Breathe

**Just Breathe**

Max's breath came out with a whoosh. Technically it's an automatic response of ones lungs to push carbon dioxide out and bring oxygen in. But there are times and situations when one was held captive and breathing was just one more thing to have to remember. As he sat on the couch in Iggy's office, he realized he had been holding his breath, which he often did when he was involved in Jason's sessions. The last many, many months had felt like life had been a series of doodles that he was so desperately trying to make into a picture that made some kind of sense. The last few days had been trying and difficult—speed bumps in their treacherous journey and Max was afraid of what today might bring, despite a bright and uneventful morning.

As they waited for Jason, Max thought back on the morning. Max walked him to school at least twice a week and it had started off well, Jay seemed to be in a good mood, lighter on the walk to school. Perhaps it had been a nightmare free evening, or Meredith had made him some sort of promise or homework had gone well. It could have been a myriad of things, that most parents never gave a second thought about, but a cheerful mood always left Max waiting for the other shoe to drop. What started off well, wasn't often allowed to stay that way, not in their world, where light was often followed by a dimming and then a blanket of darkness. Each smile, bit of laughter, chunk of happiness came at a cost. Their lives were bound by chains, with only hopes of being set free. But damn the kid was trying, trying so hard that it often left him exhausted—all of them exhausted. In all honesty, they were afraid of the ending and what it would hold and tried to hang on to each every victory, however small it appeared to be. Iggy was right, none of this happened in a straight line and there were setbacks. But instead of taking one step forward and two steps back, it had become to steps forward and only one step back, but it made those backward steps that much more heartbreaking and Max wasn't sure just how much more heartbreak he could take.

But as Max reveled in those triumphs there were recent memories that made him check his feelings. A memory slipped front and center as he recalled a rather large meltdown from two nights ago, that included; screaming, crying and door slamming. He told Iggy about it and was a bit surprised to hear his friend snort. "That's a typical preteen meltdown. You're going to have to deal with those on your own," he chuckled.

Typical, a word that had been out of their reach for a very long time. But there had been typical days. Days where Max coaxed him to bake cookies with him, something that Jason had done with Georgia in the past. It was a healing exercise for both of them. Together they mixed and stirred and patted out small discs. But the even greater accomplishment was that Jason ate them. The frustrations came not from haunting memories, but from arguments about where dirty laundry went, if homework was done and bed times.

Night still held its own challenges. They had purchased bags of little plastic glow in the dark stars and taped them all over the ceiling. But two days later, they had to take them all down as Jason had woken up screaming for his dad as memories of his night, staring at the stars, back in Uganda surrounded by the dead had worked their way back into his subconscious.

During his sessions with Iggy, Jason did his best to face his demons head-on, put them in their place, a place where he had control over them. But sometimes they would still get the best of him. It was these times that were the hardest for Max. To see his son's face a mask of unreadable animosity and bitterness was beyond agonizing. Lashing out at people that Max could never exact his own fury against; listening to the suffering that his son was forced to endure then and relive now. He could do nothing to make those monsters go away for good. Not then and not now. He had to leave that battle in the hands of a broken and crippled boy, who had promised never to give up.

Iggy, always a gentle and calming force, guiding Jason on journey only he could truly navigate. He was surrounded by so many that loved him, rooted for him every step of the way, but in the end it was a small boy who was in charge of maneuvering towards a future he wasn't sure he wanted and often didn't believe he deserved.

As the session began and continued, Max forced his breath as he watched his son force his feelings to the surface. "I won't forget them. I still see them all the time. In my head in my heart." He had stated. His certainty wavering as it so often did. Nothing was ever absolute in his world.

His son, so brave, braver than he would ever be. So strong, stronger than he would ever be. Such an indomitable spirit that he hoped that he could help foster. No longer living on the fringes of life, his son had jumped feet first back into life and Max could only hope that if he felt he was being swept away, he would never hesitate to ask for help.

"But maybe, you won't always see them every day. Maybe it will be a few times a week and then once a week. And that will be okay, Jason." Iggy encouraged, bringing Max back from his private thoughts.

And with those words, Max's initial fear for this latest session had been put to rest. Jason, nodded, even smiled and progress continued, the uphill journey was leveling out and he could breathe without having to think about it. As he and Jason walked back to his office he felt his sons small hand slip into his as he looked up with a genuine smile.

 _ **Soundtrack:**_

 _ **Bottom of the Lake by The Builders and the Butchers**_


	25. To Begin Again

**To Begin Again**

A month after he had gone back to school, Meredith by his side the entire way, along with two other friends that had endured their own battles enough to know what real strength was, Jason decided that he was ready for his next step. He was ready to do what he had attempted all those months ago on top of a roof in a place that he clung to while at the same time wanting to leave it far behind him. Now he and Karen stood by the East River in Brooklyn Bridge Park. In their hands they held onto their self-made passports as they gazed at the water. Jason had started over, making his more specific, including the trucks that had carried his mother away and the stars that had shown overhead. Karen's held memories of distraught faces and towering flames. Together, they took one last look and let them go, hearing the slight smack as they hit the water below.

"Now, remember," Karen began.

"I know, I know, we don't put things in the water that don't belong there. This is a one time special thing, to say goodbye to a past that caused us pain. To let it wash away and disappear forever."

"Right," Karen agreed. She had read all about balloons floating off into the distance and getting tangled up and causing many issues with wildlife. So instead she went this route, finding rice paper that would dissolve in the water. And as she watched their small books catch the current and tumble their way out of view, it was already having a profound effect on her.

In another month, if Iggy gave them the green light, they would once again travel. But this time it would only be to different areas of rural Appalachia, with its backwoods nature and high mountain tops. Along with its poverty and desperate need of medical assistance. The courts had been abandoned, custody and visitation worked out. She agreed with Max that her travels with their son would remain close to home. But he still had several counseling sessions ahead of him and had to satisfy several people that he was ready for a new adventure away from the city. He still suffered from nightmares and fits of rage, but then again, so did she.

Five weeks later—

Karen and Jason waited with their suitcases as the bus was loaded up. Max stood, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right. "I'll make sure our luggage gets a primo spot," Karen said with a wink as she left to give the guys a moment alone.

Max looked down at his son who suddenly looked so fragile. The kid had fought so hard to get to this place. He had dealt with so much, healed so much. He was a lot tougher than he looked. "You still want to go?" He asked. "You don't have to."

"I know. But I think I should get back on the horse."

"Where did you hear that?" Max laughed.

Jason shrugged. "I don't remember. Dr. Frome or maybe Aaron. But I can do this. It's only for six weeks. Mom said if I want to come home she will bring me, but first I have to wait a whole day to make sure I don't decide to quickly."

Max nodded. He and Karen had talked about what would happen if he wanted to return home. If he just seemed to want to give up they agreed that giving it a day in case he changed his mind seemed fair. But if he seemed to be going through symptoms that couldn't be ignored then she would not hesitate to rush him home as fast as they could get to the airport.

"You know I'd do anything for you, right?"

"You already have." Jason said as he looked up, squinting into the sun.

"I have?"

"You're beating cancer. You're surviving."

"Right back at you kid," Max said suddenly overcome by emotion, he pulled his son in to an embrace and held him tightly, planting a long kiss on the top of his head as he held back tears. "I'm going to miss you so much."

"Just keep getting better—and I will too."

"Be good for your mom and listen to what she tells you. And don't wander away. And pay attention to what's around you."

"I will," Jason promised.

"And call and text me and Facetime too."

"I will. But Mom said because of the mountains, there isn't a good signal. But I promise I will try."

"I know you will."

"Check on Mikey for me."

"Every day. Just like I have been doing."

"Are you sure that you'll be okay?" Jason asked concerned for his father being alone. "I mean, I can stay and help you with Luna. I don't mind." The loss of Georgia was still very big hole in their lives. One they both were still struggling with on a daily basis.

"I'll be fine. Luna and I can have some serious daddy, daughter time. But thank you for offering. I'll miss you and will count the days till you get back. But don't worry about me, just help your mom and anyone who else who might need it. I'll be here when you get back, waiting to hear all about your adventure."

"Six weeks Max." Karen said as she strolled back over. "It'll fly by I'm sure. You're working more and I'm sure Luna will keep you busy."

"Hey, it's Miranda," Jason pointed out a nurse near the bus. "I didn't know she was coming. Can I go see her?" He asked.

Karen and Max both nodded. "Bye Dad. Love you," he proclaimed as he turned and ran.

"Love you too," Max yelled at his rapidly departing son.

"I kept the fact that she was coming a secret. I think he developed a crush on her last year. She's great with him. Whether you believe me or not, I'll take good care of him. Watch him like a hawk."

"I have no worries. I really don't." Max said picturing her setting fire to the small dorm and killing all those that dared to believe that they had had the ultimate control.

"Not all those that wander are lost Max. But being home I've felt kind of lost. I think Jason has too."

"Then you need to go find yourselves."

"I think we will. I told Jason that we are not given a good life or a bad life. We are given a life and it's up to us to make it good or bad."

"Sage advice. In life, we can't always be looking back when we are trying to go forward. This will help you both move forward." Max said.

"I have to remember why we started all of this—our work, why we do this. The past effects the future, it has to, there's no way around it, but we can shape it, hopefully for the better, better for us and better for those that we help." Karen explained.

"If we don't help others, what message do we send? Sometimes we need to be rescued, other times it's up to us to do the rescuing. Sometimes both happen concurrently." Max said, with a tight smile.

"Okay enough of this enlightening and inspiring prattle." Karen laughed as they both looked over at their son who was chatting up Miranda who seemed genuinely happy to see him.

"You sure? I have plenty of cliches, quotes and tropes left." He offered as silence enveloped them.

Max shuffled as the awkwardness set in when there was seemingly nothing left to say. "I love you Max. Who you were and who you've become. And I'm so grateful that you are Jason's father. I believe that everything will be okay for you, for Jason and thanks to you, for me. That night I had wanted to die, you rescued me, you rescued our son, you rescued our worlds with your calm presence and inner-strength that I hope I can emulate one day."

Max smiled as he looked at Karen. "But I learned it all from you. Now we just have to teach it to our son."

"I think that will be the easy part," she said as she looked over to Jason who was waving to her.

"Come on Mom, it's time to get on the bus. We have people to help!"

"I think that we already have," Max said. "I think we already have."

"I think so too." She replied.

"I have one more," Max said.

"One more what?"

"Saying, conclusion. I don't know what to call it. He's," Max said nodding towards Jason, "he's like a shooting star in the rain, once bright, but suddenly muted by raindrops, but he'll shake those drops off and be as bright as ever."

"Yes. Yes he will. Of that I have no doubt." Karen concurred as they both smiled at their son who was waving for her to hurry towards their new adventure.

The End

 _Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed the experience. I can't say for certain that this is the end as the muse might shake me awake once again. But as of right now I am working on another fanfic for Chicago PD._

 _Soundtrack:_

 _I'd do anything for you by Sufjan Stevens_

 _Suns Work Undone by the Hackensaw Boys_


End file.
